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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719903">The Island Effect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Breeding, Controlling Men, Creepy society, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dominant Ben Solo, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Marriage, Gender Determinism, Like so much dirty talk, Misogyny, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, References to physical abuse, Rey is 18, Stepford Wives Vibes, Very Bad Gender Politics, ben is 30, ben solo has issues and can be an actual jerk, consent in this society is impossible, first chapter pretty much sets the tone so if you like it you can go from there, happy ending (relative to the constraints of the society they live in), idk i'm processing how mad i am about being a woman in america i think, if you're skittish about the explicit sexual content you're safe till chapter 6, institutionalized sexism, it gets more intense at chapter 7, nobody ever hits rey, references to rape, rey is kind of a cinnamon roll anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:02:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><b> In a world where females are an ultra-rare commodity, Ben Solo decides to take a more active role in managing his investments.</b><br/> </p><p>Rey has met a few other girls in her lifetime. Her grandfather brought them to the Island to see her.<br/>They were pale, diaphanous creatures who hardly spoke at all and jumped at the slightest noise. They were uncomfortable, he said, to have left their estates. It wasn’t good for them.<br/>But there was never any question of <i>Rey</i> leaving the Island.<br/>“Not until your Taking Day,” was all he ever said. "Not until Ben Solo decides."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Kaydel Ko Connix/Poe Dameron, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Hello this is a very dark AU do please mind the tags. If discussion of pregnancy squicks you out I would really turn back now</b><br/><a href="https://twitter.com/theislandeffect">I made a twitter for this</a> if you would like a place to be kept up to date on updates! I know sometimes anon fic emails are unreliable.<br/> <br/>If you talk about this fic on social (thank you!!!!), please use #theislandeffect so that people who (understandably) don't want to see such sensitive topics can mute it. </p><p><b>CONTENT GUIDELINES:</b><br/>It's very much going to stay in the zone of "bad things are done to Rey and she hates that she likes them" kind of stuff. She's very much a product of her society, and her society means that consent is impossible because she doesn't have a choice.</p><p>I would compare it to Handmaid's Tale (with SINCERE apologies to Margaret Atwood, a canadian angel whose name i have absolutely zero right to evoke but whose work also dealing with a dystopian society wrapped up in controlling women) but with a fucked up romance at the center. </p><p><b>things this fic does NOT contain:</b><br/>"daddy" stuff<br/>a situation where our heroine makes a firm "NO" statement which is ignored.<br/>rey left sobbing in a corner. It's a happy ending, considering the time and place she lives in, though it won't end with a huge structural overhaul of the government<br/>honestly the actual sexual ACTS are tame, it's the psychology behind it that's messed up</p><p> </p><p> <br/>i will try really hard to tag and update frequently and if there's something you'd like a heads up on feel free to leave it in a comment and I'll be double sure to tag and add an A/N if you need it. </p><p>aaand that was all very dire but i just want to be up front! </p><p> </p><p>  <b> also i'm on anon and have no plans to ever take this thing<i>off</i>  anon because i would really just explode if my mom ever found out about this loool</b></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>1. </strong>
</p><p>There wasn’t any question of her being Taken by anyone other than Ben Solo. There just wasn’t. Ever since she turned sixteen and the records became public, it’s all anyone wants to talk to her about. </p><p>Visiting dignitaries, senators, media elite. They come to the island, have dinner with her grandfather, smile at her and say, “So, when’s the big day?”</p><p>Rey doesn’t actually know. That’s not the kind of thing they tell girls, really. And maybe, if she’s honest, she doesn’t want to ask. Pictures of Ben Solo make him seem tall and remote, imposing and displeased. </p><p>What if she can’t please him? What will happen?</p><p>Rey has met a few other girls in her lifetime. </p><p>Her grandfather brought them to the Island to see her. Wan, diaphanous creatures who hardly spoke at all and jumped at the slightest noise. They were uncomfortable, her grandfather said, to have left their estates. It wasn’t good for them. </p><p>Her grandfather brought them all the way here, because he loved Rey so much and wanted her to meet her own kind. But there was <em> never </em> any question of Rey leaving the island. </p><p>“Not until your Taking Day,” was all he ever said.</p><p>Sometimes, Rey sits on the docks and watch the waves lap in, wondering what day it will happen. Some sleek, motorized yacht will arrive bearing gifts and Ben Solo in a cut black suit with a pretty ring for her finger and a little implant device with his name on it. He probably already has it. He could come for her at any time, probably. She's almost eighteen now. That's the usual time. </p><p>Though, of course it would depend on the contract. </p><p>Rey knows from snooping in her grandfather’s desk that there was a contract drawn up between her grandfather and Ben’s grandfather, signed in neat old-fashioned ink the day she was born. </p><p>But that document was just just a Statement of Intent. Legally, Anakin Skywalker has secured the right of first refusal on Rey for anyone in his lineage, but she was far too young for his son at the time, and anyway, the Feds would have gotten involved if they’d tried to take her that young. They don’t like females moving around too much, prefer that they stay in one place to reduce the amount of unrest, and the Skywalkers already had a few girls.  </p><p>And, as everyone is quick to tell her, change is difficult for female biology. It isn’t good for them to be moving around much. Two, maybe three primary residences is the Federal recommendation, and in some more progressive states there are even laws that can stop a man who moves a girl around too much. </p><p>Either way, it must have cost Anakin Skywalker a small <em> fortune </em> to get a hold placed on Rey that early, because grandfather could have rocketed the price by holding out until she was older. But Grandfather says that back even then, a man had to act very fast to secure a lineage for his family, especially with an organic like Rey. </p><p>The Skywalkers <em>only</em> breed with organics. </p><p>Rey’s current status is classed as “Claimed - Pending” in the national database, not that she’s seen her file herself. She thinks that’s illegal. Not that she can really be <em> tried </em> in a court of law, but if she got access to the database her Grandfather could be fined. </p><p>They don’t have internet on the Island.</p><p>“Anakin was a prudent man,” Grandfather said. “But an absolute <em> devil </em> in the negotiation.” </p><p>Rey’s always been curious how much he must have paid. Millions and millions and millions. She heard an organic once sold for fifty million dollars, and her pedigree wasn't as spotless as Rey's. </p><p>It makes her feel small. And scared. To be worth so much but valued so little.</p>
<hr/><p>“What will it be like?” she asks her grandfather one day, lounging in the living room in silk pajama pants and an oversized cashmere sweater. Grandfather takes another drag on his pipe and looks out the window for a minute. It's night time, and they often sit like this when the sun goes down. Talking by the fire. </p><p>It's illegal to smoke near a female, but he lights a pipe anyway, sitting near the window to vent the smoke. </p><p>“I suppose I don’t know how to answer that question. I'm not a girl, am I?" </p><p>Rey frowns. “Well, what was it like when you got your girl?” </p><p>“My first one?” Grandfather says, his eyebrows raising. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, staring off. Sometimes he gets like this, pensive and thoughtful. “It was a different time. She was … very afraid.” </p><p>That makes Rey go quiet. The clock on the wall ticks, and she can hear the sound of the butler in the front hall talking to one of the servants. Outside the brick walls, she can hear the faint roar of the sea, lulling and constant.  </p><p>When her grandfather looks at her again, his eyes are warm. “It won’t be like that for you, dear. I’ve made a good match for you. He’ll be able to correct you without excessive force. And it’s different, these days. Girls have more freedom. Certain rights, even.” </p><p>Rey picks up her mug of tea and flips through the book in front of her. It’s pictures of dresses modeled on plastic mannequins. She marks ones she likes with a pale pink pen. She bites the tip of it, trying to decide what she’ll wear. She’ll be eighteen soon. It’s time to start preparing for these things. </p><p>“Do you know how lucky you are?” he says, still looking at her. </p><p>Rey looks up from the book, meeting her grandfather’s eyes. She nods. Everyone tells her this. </p><p>“You can go where you like,” he says, gesturing expansively at the house. “No one would stop you. No one would harm you. I admit that I don’t correct you <em> nearly </em> enough, being so little at home. It’s fortunate, really, that you turned out to be such a good girl. But that is why one pays a premium for good breeding.” </p><p>Rey doesn’t remember her mother. </p><p>They were separated when Rey was old enough to be moved. She was an organic, too. But no one says much else about her, especially after her father died. She doesn’t remember him, either, though people <em> talk </em> about him at least. </p><p>What she remembers is the Island, and the sea, and the sky, and a series of tutors, and a yearly inspection performed by a man with a clipboard and a very expensive camera. Being put under anesthetic and waking with a prickly feeling in her left arm. </p><p>But it was for the best. It’s hard to establish if something is good or not without a concrete frame of reference, but from what she can tell, she’s had a good childhood. There are lots of books about unfortunate girls, stories set in times where girls were more common and less regulated. </p><p>Nobody ever tied Rey in a room for her entire life, for example. Nobody ever performed a surgery on her brain to make her docile. Why would they? A show of force like that is unnecessary, at this point. There’s nowhere she can go. If she hopped on a boat or swam into the ocean, they'd only return her. Or, worse, they <em>wouldn't</em>.</p><p>Rey gives her grandfather a smile. He's grandfather is kind to her. Always had been. Pockets full of peppermints, all the dresses she wanted, painting lessons, anything. Anything but <em> sailing </em> lessons. He’d been quite adamant about that one.</p><p>He even let her learn how to read. </p><p>“My dear, lucky girl,” her grandfather says, smiling. “Would you like a mug of hot chocolate?” </p><p>Sometimes, she can almost forget the stories they tell about him.</p>
<hr/><p>They moved out here when Rey was born, but he’d been building the place for years. No walled compound was good enough, safe enough. She had to be isolated, surrounded by a body of water that no one could cross without a loud, electronically perceptible boat. </p><p>She heard the groundskeeper say something about it one day when she’d been headed for a walk in the woods, the groundskeeper's dog at her side, nipping at squirrels and missing with much grousing. </p><p>“Yeah, but who could blame him?” says the groundskeeper, watching her from a few paces away. “She’s the most valuable asset he has.”</p><p>People often think Rey hears things less than she does. Probably because she very rarely talks. </p><p>The boatman says, “Did you hear what happened to Gerry?”</p><p>Rey crouches, pretending to inspect a newly unfurled fern frond, hoping desperately that a loud wave won’t drown out the next words. </p><p>The groundskeeper makes a low noise. “Damn fool. He left the hypodermic right there on his bunk.”</p><p>“Do you think he got a funeral?”</p><p>The groundskeeper scoffs. “You think the boss let that happen? Boss was perfectly within his rights, though I thought he should have used a shotgun instead. It was attempted <em> theft </em> of a Protected Asset. <em> And </em> she’s an organic, too. It would have been risky enough with a synthetic but <em> her </em>–”</p><p>“Honestly, Gerry was just lucky that Palpatine found him and not that Solo guy. Did you see what he said in the paper about it?” </p><p>Rey gets up and moves on, then. She doesn’t want to hear it. She does not want to know.  </p><p>She walks deeper into the woods, her dog ambling ahead of her, scouting for danger. She’s in a white sundress today, long enough to go down to her ankles but breezy and cool. It’s her favorite, and she has her hair pulled back in a pink ribbon. Her hair is brushed and sleek. </p><p>It’s a normal day, and she ambles deeper until she finds a sunny spot with a good rock to sit on. She pulls out her lunch (packed neatly for her in a plastic container by a chef with a PhD in nutrition) and takes a bite of the sandwich, considering the interesting shape of the fern in front of her.</p><p>The island is too rocky to permit much growth, but the thin birch trees give her plenty of shade as she pulls out her sketchbook and pencil, sharpening the tip with her little wood sharpener. It doesn’t have a blade on it, but it does the trick anyway.</p><p>She spends a very pleasant hour there, drawing idly, focusing on the fronds and the way they curl out, growing and expanding bigger as they age. They grow like weeds here, and she’s always liked drawing them. The sound of a loud, metallic bell grabs her attention, and she stows her notebook in her backpack, leaping to her feet and pulling out the little silver whistle fixed to the bracelet she wears at all times. </p><p>She blows the whistle twice, two shrill notes that reach all the way back to the house. The bell stops. </p><p>One whistle is a simple alert. Sometimes someone at the house will ring the bell just once, and she’ll blow her whistle back a single time to say, <em> Here I am, I am not hiding, I’m safe.   </em></p><p>No further action is required.</p><p>But a sustained bell ringing like that is a summons, so she replies with a two whistle response that says, <em> I heard you, I’m coming.  </em></p><p>If she doesn’t reply, the Island will become a seething mass of chaos as every deckhand, every servant and guard starts to turn the place upside down in a mad quest to find her. She’d fallen asleep once and missed a bell, and when she’d woke up it had been because a guard was picking her up none too gently, laughing softly as she’d squeaked in surprise and protest.</p><p>That's the protocol. He'd bind her if he had to, smiling fondly at her, because that's how <em>everyone</em> smiles at her. </p><p>He’d brought her to her grandfather’s study, and he had been <em> furious.  </em></p><p>Didn’t she understand that people want to take her from him? Didn’t she think about the raids that have been intercepted? Isn’t she <em> grateful </em> for the opportunity to roam unsupervised?</p><p>And the truth is that she is. She’s afraid of those things. She’s grateful for the luxuries, and she doesn’t want to lose them. They say a desire to please is the nature of all girls. That they were made to be grateful and sweet and have children. </p><p>Maybe that’s true, but Rey’s experience of being a girl has more to do with a deep understanding that a dark world of fear and terror is always a hands-breadth away from her, and that the people who keep her from that fate can change their minds at any time. </p><p>At times like these she comforts herself by thinking of the paperwork. How a man who is dead now paid upwards of forty million dollars for the right for his grandson to own her in eighteen years. So she’d bowed her head and cried a little, very sorry, very contrite, and Grandfather calmed down. No outings for a week. Inside only. Dinner in her rooms.</p><p>But things had gone back to normal. She's a good girl. They trust her, and when she earns her privileges back, she has them again.  </p><p>These days, Rey does her best to be listening for the bells at all times. It’s an irritant, this sense that no matter where she goes, she’s never really far. Maybe that’s the point, more than the safety aspect. </p><p>Trekking back to the house, her grandfather’s assistant meets her at the bottom of the wide stairs. He’s a friendly guy with a two year old boy at home. Sometimes he brings the kid out to the Island on weekends, and they play together. He’d been born in the labs, and the techs there had done an uncanny job with the resemblance. The boy has Mitaka’s dark hair and big eyes. He must have been expensive. </p><p>But even so, he’s still just a kid, and he likes to tumble and play and laugh. Her grandfather likes to see her play with children. He likes to see her with babies, best.</p><p>“Miss Palpatine,” he says. “Pleasure to see you.” Rey smiles politely back, but doesn’t reply. No reply is expected. “I thought we might meet to discuss a few matters concerning your upcoming birthday.”</p><p>They turn to walk back up to the house, and Rey’s heartbeat quickens and she rubs the whistle on her bracelet. It’s small and decorative, but quite loud. If Rey blew it three times in a row, a guard at the edge of the trees would shoot Dopheld Mitaka in the knees. If she blew it again, he’d shoot him in the head. Right in front of her. </p><p>Mitaka looks like he’s not thinking about that, though. </p><p>“I was thinking roses for the flowers, given the occasion,” Mitaka says breezily. “But I thought I’d ask you first.” </p><p>It’s a nice thing to do. She gives him a smile. “Pink or white?” </p><p>Dopheld taps his thumb, holding the door open for her as they walk into the cool marble floors of the back living room. Someone has set out a tray of mint tea for Rey with her daily vitamins, and a mug of coffee for Mitaka.</p><p>Rey’s always been curious about coffee. She’s not allowed any, due to the potential reproductive harm, but Mitaka drinks enough of the stuff to make her wonder if there’s some addictive chemical in it.</p><p>He downs another cup, flipping through a notebook. Electronic devices are highly frowned upon on the Island. Her Grandfather prefers to keep her away from screens. </p><p>“Well, I thought pink would be nice, but you can’t lose, can you, when it comes to roses?” he looks at her like he thinks she’s going to have an opinion on the topic, but she doesn’t. So she smiles at him, which seems to be all he expects.</p><p>“Ah, the guest list,” Mitaka says, pulling out a sheet of white paper and handing it to Rey as she sits on an arm chair set just out of the sun. Rey takes the paper, browsing the names.</p><p>Ben Solo is the first name. Right on top. She swallows.</p><p>“Mitaka?” Rey says. </p><p>“Hm?” </p><p>“I want a new dress,” she says, putting the paper down without reading any of the other names. “For the party.” </p><p>Mitaka smiles fondly. “Of course you do. Your grandfather suggested a few options.” </p><p>Rey takes the little booklet and flips through, looking at the gowns. They seem to run on a theme.</p><p>All of them are white. All of them are lower cut than <em> anything </em> she’s ever been allowed to wear before. And all of them go down to the floor. </p><p>“Such a considerate man,” Mitaka says, taking another sip of coffee. “You’re such a lucky girl, you know.”</p><p>Rey looks back up at Mitaka. “Have you met Mr. Solo?”</p><p>Mitaka’s contented expression falters, slightly. Then he picks it back up. “Yes, I’ve had the honor on several occasions.”</p><p>“How do you find him?”</p><p>“He’s everything a man should be,” Mitaka says, with the kind of reverence that only comes from a man born into the administrative class. “It’s a fine match.”</p><p>“But, what is he <em> like</em>?” </p><p>“Tall, broad, direct, wealthy,” Mitaka says, running off a list like he’s taking an inventory. “He has three houses, and I’m told there’s an expansion in the works on one of them. They’re saying—” and here he looks over his shoulder, dropping his voice low. “— they’re saying that expansion is for <em> you. </em>”</p><p>Rey goes very still. “Of course.”</p><p>Mitaka seems to be in fine form now. “An exterior wall that’s <em> six feet thick, </em> and only one main access gate, which I thought was very smart given that unfortunate incident at the Dameron Estate.” </p><p>“Is it near the sea?”</p><p>Mitaka blinks. “I’m not certain. They didn’t put the location in the papers, for obvious reasons.” </p><p>Rey hopes it will be near the sea. </p><p>“Suffice it to say,” Mitaka says, snapping his folio closed. “That you will be <em> very </em> secure, my dear. What a lucky girl.”</p><p>Rey folds the booklet of gowns over on itself, pointing to the simplest gown in the set. </p><p>He takes it without comment, and Rey doubts very much that he understands her choice. It has a slit up the side. It would be the easiest one to run in. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh hi thanks for checking in i'm<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZUcpVmEHuk">~still a piece of gaaarbaaage~ </a></p><p> </p><p>if you would like to support your local trash goblin in this time of insanity i would appreciate a kudos or a comment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>2.</strong>
</p><p>The night before the party, Rey’s in her rooms reading, trying to keep her mind off everything. That's when she hears it. The call of a boat horn. She’s out of bed in a flash, her cotton nightgown twisted and bunched up, but she doesn’t care. She runs to her window and opens it, looking down to the water at the misty morass of fog. Outside, the light is rapidly fading, and the green lawn has fallen into misty dusk. </p><p>For a minute she thinks she imagined the horn, a side effect of her overactive imagination. But then it sounds again. </p><p>Her heart begins to hammer. Nobody would use their horn this to the shore unless they had a death wish or an invitation. </p><p>It’s dark in the house, but she scrambles barefoot down the main stairs the minute the coast is clear of servants cleaning up after their evening meal. She darts down the back step, sprinting for the woods. It’s raining and the path is slippery, but it leads down through the trees to the water, offering her a bit of shelter as she crouches under an obliging pine to peer through the boughs at the dock just beyond.</p><p>She waits there for what feels like forever, but eventually she sees it. A sleek, white boat sliding across the water, powerful and sleek. Just like she imagined. It's big enough to sleep multiple people, but that's not what catches her eyes. Standing on the bow, dressed in a black coat that whips around his legs, is a man with dark hair. He's too far away to be able to pick out much else, but she can tell that he's tall and powerful. Rey’s breath catches as the boat docks, the dockhands running up to moor the boat, lowering a walkway that he strides down without comment, coming to rest with his hands on his hips on the dock, facing the house. He looks very much like the photos of him, serious with a furrowed brow, but from this distance it’s hard to make out much else. </p><p>Rey holds very still, because even from here she can sense that he’s the sort of man to take in a whole scene, missing nothing. He sizes the house up, then turns to his companion, a red haired man wearing a warmer coat. </p><p>So this is Ben Solo in the flesh. Her future just… standing there. Is that the boat he’ll take her on? Back to the compound he’s building in her honor? She wishes she were closer. If she could get a better look at him, she might be able to see his face. She's desperate for a sense of what kind of person will get to control her for the rest of her life. Cold reeds brush against her shins, making her shiver as the mist soaks through her clothes.</p><p>Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she creeps forward in the underbrush, her belly dragging against grasses and wet dirt as she inches forward. The light is fading fast, and she’s optimistic that he can’t see her at this distance. It's insanity, what she's doing, but Ben Solo is likely to be the biggest thing that will ever happen to her, and she's so desperate to see what he's like when he thinks she's not looking, when she can have a reaction that's genuinely her own. A first glance at him that is private. Hers. </p><p>The harbor men are securing the boat, lashing it fast in a way that suggests it’ll be docked here tonight. A crazy thought strikes her— </p><p>She could get to the boat. Wait until they all leave. It’s motorized and not <em> that </em> big. She could pilot it, sneak aboard and—</p><p>Rey stops herself. Where would she even go? The minute she went missing the entire world would upend itself looking for her. And Ben Solo must have a tracker on his boat, unless he’s <em> very </em> stupid. Then she hears it. The sound of the house bell tolling a single time.</p><p>
  <em>Where are you?</em>
</p><p>Rey goes very cold. </p><p>Someone at the house has noticed that she’s missing.</p><p><em>Here I am. I am not safe. </em> </p><p>If she doesn’t respond with a whistle, they’ll set the dogs out. The whole island will start looking for her, and her new owner’s first impression of her will the image of a disobedient girl being hauled off over some burly security guard’s shoulder to her grandfather. They'll start out on the wrong foot, and maybe he'll beat her. </p><p>But if she answers with a whistle trill to call off the search, she’ll give herself away to Ben Solo and his crew of scary, black-suited guys. Crouched not fifteen paces from a man who no doubt already feels entitled to her. Would he have the same thought she did? He could grab her, carry her onto the boat, there would be nothing she could do.</p><p>Ben Solo looks up at the house, his posture tense as he hunts for the sound of the noise. If she’s as lucky as everyone says she is, then he doesn’t know what that sound means.</p><p>Rey backs a little deeper into the trees, pulls the silver whistle to her lips but waiting until she’s deeper into the foliage before she blows. The shrill, silvery sound pierces the darkness, and even though she’s already bolting backwards, she swears she hears the sound of a man on the dock yelling something that sounds very much like “stop.”</p><p>Rey doesn’t stop. She sprints through the woods, darting back through the foliage, tripping on rocks, scuffing her knees and ending up panting and heaving at a back entrance of the house, her chest heaving as she fumbles with the handle. </p><p>Someone opens the door for her, yanking her in before she can protest. </p><p>“What were you <em> thinking,</em>” hisses Mitaka. He’s all but dragging her inside, bundling her towards the servant’s stairs that lead up to the main floor of the house. He must have known she’d come down here. They all know her routines. </p><p>Rey struggles out of his grasp and he lets go, turning around to scowl at her. Technically, he’s not technically allowed to touch her.  </p><p>“You mustn’t go running off like that,” Mitaka says. “Today of all days.” </p><p>“Nobody told me that he was coming here <em> today,</em>” Rey says, gasping for breath and starting to shiver as her soaking wet dress drips on the floor.</p><p>“Your grandfather didn’t want to distress you,” Mitaka chides. “You shouldn’t be distressed. It’s bad for your health, Miss.”  </p><p>Rey nods her head, winded and contrite. It was a stupid impulse. Mitaka looks like he’s about to say something else, but then her teeth start to chatter and he sighs. He shrugs out of his suit jacket, holding it out to her.</p><p>She takes it, shrugging her arms through the sleeves. The jacket is warm, and Rey’s grateful for it. Mitaka went out on a limb for her by intercepting her before her grandfather could. </p><p>“I was just curious to see him.”</p><p>“You have the rest of your <em> life </em> to be curious about Ben Solo, but don’t be disobedient before you’ve even had the chance to meet him.”</p><p>Rey swallows, chastised. “I understand.”</p><p>Mitaka pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your grandfather is in his study. I doubt he heard the bell. He had his Rachmaninov on. I won’t tell him if you promise to run upstairs and go straight to bed.”</p><p>Rey grimaces, thanking her stars for his taste in loud, aggressive piano music. </p><p>“Thank you,” she mumbles. "I will."</p><p>Mitaka shoos her up the stairs. “Your grandfather expects to see you in his study before bed. You know the rules.”</p><p>Rey rolls her eyes when she’s sure Mitaka can’t see her. He’s a good sort, generally. He won’t rat her out. Probably. </p><p>She takes a quick peek left and right before scurrying out the servant’s stairs and onto the main floor, then starts up the sweeping white stairs to the second floor where her rooms are. Her damp feet leave wet marks on the marble, but there’s no time to cover them up, because she can hear the sound of male voices approaching. </p><p>She’s only halfway up, but there’s a landing halfway up where the two sides of the stairs meet onto one landing, and Rey narrowly makes it to the halfway point, dropping into a crouch underneath the railing, hidden from view just in time as the sound of male voices and expensive shoes fills the atrium. </p><p>She’ll be fine. As long as she doesn’t stand up. And as long as nobody tries to take the stairs. </p><p>“-choppy this time of year,” says the voice of the marina master. </p><p>Footsteps. The sound of luggage being set down, coats being removed. A servant comes to take the bags, and Rey thanks her <em> stars </em> that the guest wing is on the first floor.  </p><p>“The trip across was tolerable,” says a prickly voice Rey doesn’t recognize. Gotta be the redhead.</p><p>“Mr. Solo, can I bring you anything?” says Mitaka’s voice, approaching from the servant’s hallway with the sound of dress shoes on the tile. </p><p>“You can bring me what I came here for,” says a deep, baritone voice that can only be <em> his </em> voice. He talks just the same way he looks. Direct and scowly. It does something to her, that voice. It’s so deep and direct and clear, a voice made to bark orders. </p><p>He’ll be using that voice on <em> her. </em> And soon. </p><p>Mitaka laughs. “Impatient, are you? I’m afraid she’s resting at the moment. Not fit to be seen.”</p><p>“She’s in her room?” Ben says. “Are they upstairs?”</p><p>Mitaka’s laugh becomes a little more brittle. “All in good time. I’m sure the master of the house would prefer to welcome you first.” Rey has never been so grateful for his insistence on rules and etiquette. “Come, we’ll go to the cigar room. You must be tired. We’ve a very fine brandy decanted, given the festive occasion.”</p><p>Rey’s heart is pounding so loud that she’s terrified he’ll be able to hear it somehow. Her knees ache a little from the running and the crouching, but nothing on earth will make her budge an inch. </p><p>Someone scoffs. “He’s been absolutely useless for the past six weeks. I’m sure a brandy will do him some good. Keep it in your pants, Solo. You can wait a little longer.”</p><p>Her grandfather’s voice, clear and warm, interrupts the little scene. “Ah, young Solo. Welcome. Fine night for a journey, eh? Do set those bags down, my boys can take them for you— my god, Armitage you look like a half-drowned cat!”</p><p>There’s the sound of footsteps, bodies moving, murmured conversation. Rey holds very still, waiting until the house is absolutely silent and the voices have receded down the hallway towards the cigar room.  </p><p>One she’s sure they're gone, she waits another minute just in case, then peeks over the edge of the railing to check that the coast is clear.</p><p>The coast is very much not clear.</p><p>Ben Solo is standing in the foyer, his arms crossed, staring straight up at her. He’s dressed in a tailored black suit — a Tom Ford ensemble, her brain supplies unhelpfully. He must have stayed behind, and he's looking directly at her like he was just waiting for her to show herself— she has no idea how he managed that, exactly— and waited to catch her. The feeling of being trapped, corner and alone, fills her body with the first stirrings of cold, stringy panic.  </p><p>Rey claps a hand across her mouth, immediately so full of fear that she has to fight the urge to hit the deck and just roll over, expose her underbelly. She’s soaked, covered in mud, and draped in an oversized men’s jacket that swamps her shoulders. She’s never looked <em> less </em> like she’s supposed to, and she’s probably bleeding from the cut on her knee. </p><p>This is… very bad. <em> How had he known she was there? </em></p><p>“Your tracks only go halfway up,” he says, answering her unspoken question and pointing at the stairs where the wet imprints of her feet have left very slight puddles. Rey could curse, and his brow raises in amusement. </p><p>“Don’t feel bad. You were quick. But I’m a good hunter.” </p><p>Rey starts to tremble, and she opens her mouth to try and think of something to say.  Nothing comes out. </p><p>He takes a few steps towards the stairs, and all at once Rey’s panic escalates from a 5 to a 9. He can’t do this. Not yet, anyway. Tomorrow, when everything is signed, he can do <em> anything </em> to her. No one will help her. Legally, her existence will be folded into his. But that’s tomorrow. As he takes one step up the staircase, she stumbles back, tripping on the step behind her and almost falling before she catches herself on the railing.</p><p>He’s frowning at her, still on that bottom step. “Easy, sweet thing. Easy.”</p><p>She doesn’t like the tone of his voice. So calm and placating and <em> nice. </em> Maybe if his eyes weren’t so dark and hungry, it wouldn’t bother her, but he looks like he’s trying to decide if he should eat her here or save her for later. </p><p>“Don’t come closer,” she whispers. </p><p>“But I’m so eager to meet you,” he says, tilting his head a little like she’s said something interesting. </p><p>“I’m not supposed to —” </p><p>“Go tumbling through the woods on a dark night alone?” he says, taking another step up. “No, you’re not. Nor are you supposed to crouch on stairwells, eavesdropping on unsuspecting houseguests.”</p><p>He doesn’t look unsuspecting. He looks extremely suspecting. </p><p>She lifts her chin in what she hopes is a defiant way, wanting him to know that even though she’s scared, she’s not going to just roll over. If he’s going to try this now, she’s going to make a <em> scene. </em>This whole estate is built around protecting her, and until everything is signed, she’s still her grandfather’s girl. It feels important to insist on that, since it will be her last chance. </p><p>He’d be breaking the law by touching her. </p><p>But he looks like the kind of guy who hunts people for sport, so maybe he’s not concerned about that kind of thing.</p><p>“You know, it will fall to me to correct you,” he murmurs. “It seems you’ve been raised in quite a lenient environment.” </p><p>She takes a step back as he takes another one forward, but she doesn't say a damn thing.</p><p>“Can’t you speak, pretty thing?”</p><p>His mouth is parted, like he’s trying to scent her on the air. Even from her position half a flight of stairs above him, she can tell how large he is. Immense. She read in a book once that men used to be shorter, but that men of Ben’s generation benefitted from a rapidly advancing bevy of genetic improvements. Stronger. Taller. More athletic. Keener senses. </p><p>“Well?” he says, climbing one more step up. </p><p>She’s still out of arm’s reach. Not close enough to grab. That feels very important.</p><p>“I’m not allowed to talk to strangers,” she finally says. </p><p>He inhales, and she can’t tell if that was the right answer or not. He just stops, straightening on the step. </p><p>“Good girl,” he says, his lips curving in a way that isn’t really a smile. And then, his tone hardening, he says, “Then tell me, Rey, who gave you that jacket?”</p><p>Rey glances down at Mitaka’s black jacket, draped inelegantly over her shoulders, confused. She looks back up at him, only to see that he’s climbed two steps while she wasn’t looking. God, he’s quiet.</p><p>“Rey, who gave you that jacket?” he says, something about it making her certain that she doesn’t want to know what will happen if he has to ask a third time. </p><p>“It’s granddad’s. I was cold.”</p><p>She lies. The first lie she’s ever told him. The first of many, she’s sure, but she can’t risk Ben Solo taking his anger out on Mitaka. </p><p>He seems mollified, but not… convinced. He’s got a surprisingly expressive face. </p><p>“Well, girls get cold when they run through the mist and mud,” he says, his tone gently scolding. “Look at you, your little knees, your thighs. You’re a mess.” He takes another step up the stairs, his expression intent. “Let me help you warm up.”</p><p>Nope. No. Absolutely not.</p><p>Rey grabs the whistle on her bracelet, and Ben sees the motion, small as it is, and his eyes flit back up to her face. He must see her grim determination, because his lips pull into a little smile. </p><p>“Does that make you feel safe from me? That little whistle?” </p><p>Rey brings the whistle to her lips, holding his gaze, drawing as far back as she can get. He must be wondering if she’s bluffing. Hell, Rey is <em> also </em> wondering if she’s bluffing. All she knows is that something is about to happen, and neither outcome strikes her as ideal.</p><p>Her grandfather’s voice cuts in through the air, and Rey could cry with relief. </p><p>“Ben, my boy? Are you coming?” </p><p>Ben sighs ruefully, straightening a little and glancing down the stairs.</p><p>“Just rescheduling a meeting,” Ben calls. Rey takes the opportunity to climb two more stairs away from him, almost to the second floor landing. He gives her a fond glance, rubbing his jaw with one massive hand as he turns back. </p><p>“Run along, sweet thing,” he whispers. “I’ll see you soon.” </p><p>Rey <em> bolts </em> up the stairs. </p><p>______</p><p>They don’t summon her that night. It’s too late for her, and she imagines that her grandfather will probably want to keep her and Ben apart for as long as possible. Flexing his fingers one last time. </p><p>Rey locks the door, then calls security on the landline to double check that the electronic locks are engaged as well. When they confirm that Ben doesn’t have keycard access to her room, she nearly sags with relief. She hadn’t realized how scared she was. </p><p>She showers, washing her hair and shaving with extra care, since there seems to be a very real threat that someone is going to touch her in the immediate future. The thought makes her feel strange. She doesn’t want to be touched. Not by anyone. All her life she’s been off limits. She’s used to it, and the idea of some stranger pawing at her makes her feel afraid and uncomfortable.</p><p>But part of her is desperately curious, too.</p><p>Nobody touches her. Not even to hug her. </p><p>Ben looked like he <em> very much </em>wanted to touch her. He’ll be doing a lot more than that. </p><p>
  <em> Skywalkers only breed with organics. </em>
</p><p>Rey closes her eyes and tries to focus on toweling off, reminding herself that at least Ben isn’t bad looking. For a scary guy. </p><p>She braids her hair and moisturizes her entire body, patting on a body oil that makes her skin smell like vanilla to finish. Her skincare routine is extensive and expensive. She has makeup, too, made in custom batches. There isn’t much demand for makeup, but grandfather likes to see her wear it. </p><p>Rey pulls on a thick bathrobe over her pajamas, and peers out the open door. </p><p>It feels insane to go to his study like usual, given everything, but he likes routine. He might punish her for breaking it. Rey hopes that Ben didn’t rat her out to her grandfather for sneaking out. But it would make him look bad if he admitted to speaking to her without grandfather’s permission, so maybe they’re at an impasse. </p><p>So she pads down the stairs, resolutely <em> not </em> thinking about how tall Ben looked even from half a story above him, and slinks down the hallway to knock on her grandfather’s study door. She feels like she’s trespassing in her own home, and she kind of hates Ben Solo for that.</p><p>“Come in,” says grandfather.</p><p>Rey slips inside, relieved to shut the door behind her. Grandfather is in his usual chair, his pipe lit. He smiles at her. </p><p>She goes to him, pressing a kiss on his cheek before taking her usual position sprawled on the floor in front of him. He gives her a fond smile, puffing on his pipe, watching her as she grabs for a book to read. Tonight, she goes for a book on the National Parks. Maybe she’ll finally get to see them. It’s not common for girls to leave their estates, but not unheard of. </p><p>Although, Ben didn’t seem thrilled that she’d left her grandfather’s house. So. Probably not. A stone of disappointment falls into her chest. She stares at a picture of Yellowstone National Park, with its geyser and its big skies and open space. It makes her want to cry. </p><p>When her grandfather speaks, she’s startled enough that she lets the book fall onto the floor. </p><p>“Aren’t you going to ask?” </p><p>Grandfather never says anything about their guests, and even now, she doesn’t really think he’ll comment on Ben’s arrival or ask her about it. Unless he’s in the mood to reminisce, these evenings are often quite silent. The fire crackles, warming Rey’s toes.</p><p>“Ask what, grandfather?” </p><p>“About our guests.”</p><p>Rey crinkles her nose, clearing her throat against the tightness there. “I expect you’ll only tell me that good girls are patient.” </p><p>Her grandfather laughs, pleased by her pertness. </p><p>“Right you are, my dear. But it went very well. He’s going to be pleased by you.”</p><p>Rey hopes he is. If Ben backs out, then grandfather will have to void the contract. They read in silence for another half hour, grandfather nursing a brandy and reading some pop-psych book about the Genetic Conflicts. </p><p>When the clock sounds ten PM, Rey shuts her book without being told, shelving it neatly and getting up to give her grandfather his usual goodnight kiss. He sighs, but before she leaves he says, “Rey, wait a moment.”</p><p>She turns, instantly on the alert. Any change in the routine is dangerous. </p><p>But he’s only walking to his desk to pick up a box there. He hands it to Rey, and she gives him a surprised look. </p><p>“It’s from <em> him,</em>” grandfather says significantly.</p><p>“Can I—” Rey says, very afraid of what this box might contain. “Can I open it in my room?” </p><p>Grandfather’s eyes narrow, and she can see him deciding whether or not to agree. But the clock chimes again, and he sighs. “I suppose you’ll want to enjoy your girlish delights in private. Be off.” </p><p>Rey nods, dismissed, clutching the box to her chest as she strides out of the room.</p><p>When she gets to her room, terrified the whole time that he’s going to be lurking around a corner somewhere, laying in wait to spring on her.</p><p>
  <em> I’m a good hunter. </em>
</p><p>But nothing happens, and she returns to her rooms without further incident. Once the door is firmly locked, she sets the box on her bed and stares at it for a minute, hesitating.</p><p>She’s <em> afraid </em> of Ben Solo. She’s afraid of this change and all it represents. Even without delusions of running off and living somewhere free, some desert where the world’s genetic crisis can’t touch her, she is still oppressed by a choking, smothering fear that her life is about to get worse.</p><p>This box represents the start of that change. The first thing that he gives her, the first gesture of his intentions. What if it’s something horrible? A collar or Mitaka’s left hand or— </p><p>She rips the lid off. </p><p>Inside, folded neatly, is a Tom Ford suit jacket. She recognizes it. It’s the one he was wearing on the stairs, benign and harmless and yet filling her with a bone deep chill.  </p><p>She picks up the card affixed to the lapel, flicking it open to reveal a black scrawl of handwriting.</p><p>
  <em> To keep you warm until I can do it for you. Sleep well.  </em>
</p><p>Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a pleasantry. It feels like a command.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading! kudos and comments appreciated if you want to feed your local trash goblin.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>3.</strong>
</p><p>It’s surprising Ben feels as savagely awful as he does, considering how well everything is coming together. </p><p>Yesterday had been a blur, double checking preparations at the house, arranging last minute travel details, securing a few loose financial documents, and all the while full of an agitating, motivating energy.</p><p>He’s going to get her. All this fucking paperwork, all this bullshit, and today is the day that he puts her on a boat and takes her back to his house. </p><p>Hux watches him with his usual laconic half-smile on his face, dressed in a black pinstripe while he lounges in an armchair near the window. He’s technically here in his capacity as Ben’s witness to the Taking ceremony, but he seems to have tagged along mostly to be an obnoxiously calm foil to Ben’s manic, furious energy.</p><p>“You’re in an awfully good mood,” Hux says, looking down at his newspaper. “The market is up, not that you asked.”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Ben says.</p><p>Hux does not fuck off. </p><p>“The Times is saying that if you and the girl are successful, the genetic imprint of organic women in America will increase by 10%. The Gene Institute is saying you should be given a medal for your service to the country by keeping her stateside instead of taking her to Switzerland or Australia.”</p><p>Ben scoffs. They’re just happy about the tax rake off. </p><p>The thought of this day has been an unscratched itch in the back of his head for the past year and a half, knowing that the longer they’re apart, the less time he has with her. The higher the risk that something could go wrong.</p><p>The entire island is highly unsuitable. He should have found a way around Palpatine’s restrictions. She’s spent far too much running around unsupervised, getting injured and scrawny while Palpatine neglected her. She could have <em> drowned </em> out here, for christ’s sakes, and what would have happened if she needed a doctor? </p><p>A helicopter airlift? A stay in a hospital? </p><p>Unacceptable.</p><p>Thinking of the way he’d first seen her— crouched at the water line in that sopping wet dress, so slight, fleeing at top speed to get away from him— sets his teeth on edge. Palpatine might claim that he took her out here to protect her, but from Ben’s point of view he only wanted to neglect her without the Feds breathing down his neck.</p><p>He rubs his neck, thinking of their first encounter for the tenth time. The science is inconclusive on the long-term effects of bad first encounters, but he’d hardly say it went well. He should have waited, approached her more gently. But he hadn’t been able to help it; knowing that she was right there, hiding from him like that, it <em> did </em> something to him.</p><p>The problem was that he didn’t have the right to go after her. It’s natural she’d be afraid of him, but he shouldn’t have permitted her to run from him. He set a bad example. When she’s his, he’s going to be a good husband. He won’t disrespect her by tolerating such an egregious breach of their respective roles; he can only hope she’ll come to understand that she’s the strong, reassuring presence she needs in her life, a man who can protect her, keep her safe, give her good, healthy babies that nobody will ever take from her. </p><p>“This whole thing is delusional,” Ben scowls, watching as the first of the party guests begin docking their boats. The ceremony is an afternoon affair, and then the party afterwards will stretch far into the night. It’s going to be <em> torture. </em> </p><p>Hux sets down his paper, nodding sympathetically. “If you didn’t want stodgy tradition and boring dinner parties, you shouldn’t have gone for an organic.”</p><p>Ben scoffs. “God, I can’t wait until we leave.” </p><p>Hux stares into the middle distance, expression speculative. “I suppose Palpatine dragged us out here to make you bow and scrape one last time before he hands her over.”</p><p>“This whole day could have been a digital signature and a bank transfer,” Ben mutters. </p><p>“Wouldn’t you like to see the Feds take <em> that </em> on? The biggest vulnerability in the fabric of the country traded around like cattle over the internet. No, <em> thank </em> you. It might be a farce, but at least it’s civilized.” </p><p>Ben scowls. His grandfather had suggested that he just walk onto the island, pick the girl up, and just waltz off “caveman style,” which Ben had liked very much until Poe reminded him that a threat against a reproductive agent of the United States was considered an act of domestic terrorism, and he’d changed his mind. </p><p>So here he is. In a nice suit on a tiny island, gnashing his teeth over a cup of weak coffee.</p><p>He’ll feel better once he has her back at the estate, secured against the world by a six foot fence and armed guards. She’ll be more comfortable there, too, in time. Once she gets used to it.</p><p>Ben turns to Hux. “Have you spoken to the estate today?”</p><p>“Everything is prepared. They ran all the tests this evening. Security system is all prepared, the house is cleaned. Only waiting on you.”</p><p>“I don’t want too many staff around. She isn’t used to company. I want to keep her isolated in the suite, for now. Don’t want to frighten her.”</p><p>“So, should we lock the nursery doors, then?”</p><p>The way she’d looked at him yesterday… it’s going to take some time to work her up to <em> that</em>, he suspects. She didn’t exactly seem like the platonic ideal of a well-raised young woman, eager to part her legs and serve her country. But then, Palpatine didn’t care about the country or biological duty. He cared about money. The poor girl would have to be totally re-educated, and he doesn’t want to overwhelm her all at once. </p><p>A little at a time in controlled doses, with as much positive reinforcement as he can give her. She’ll come around. He’ll make sure of that. </p><p>Ben sighs. “Probably.”</p><p>“I don’t see why you’re delaying the inevitable,” Hux says. “She’ll have to accept it sooner or later. You’re only being unkind if you rob her of her childbearing years. It’s a genetic discourtesy to the planet, and they need to learn these things.” </p><p>Ben grunts. “I’m reasonable. Not her fault she was raised all wrong.”</p><p>Hux sighs. “Rose took time, too. I suppose they’re all a bit different.” </p><p>“Look at you, what a modern man,” Ben says, clapping Hux on the back. </p><p>“They calm down when you get them pregnant,” he says, flipping his newspaper over. “You’re only going to stress her out unless you’re firm on your biological imperative. They need to know you’re in charge, or they get anxious.” </p><p>There’s a soft knock on the door, and then Mitaka enters. He’s smiling in that nervous way of his. It pisses Ben off. </p><p>“Well?” Ben says. </p><p>Mitaka smiles. “The young miss is awake. Guests are beginning to arrive.”</p><p>“Good. What are the arrangements for the handoff?” </p><p>“Ah,” Mitaka starts to say.</p><p>“She should be kept in her rooms. It will only upset her,” Ben says, turning to glower out the window at the well-dressed men making their way off their boats. This will be an uncomfortable day for Rey, and it will be better for all of them if she’s tucked neatly out of the way. He definitely <em> doesn’t </em> want her running down to the water again. What if someone saw her there, alone like that? </p><p>Mitaka clears his throat. “The master of the house has brought her to his study for a private conference, and I believe he means for Rey to be introduced to certain members of the board.”</p><p>“Is the <em> master </em> of the house <em> insane </em>?” Ben says coldly. Hux snorts. Mitaka balks. “He’s just going to drag her out in front of the masses like some kind of trophy?”</p><p>When he gets her home, she will have precious few visitors. No matter how much every person he’s ever met in his life will suddenly be dying to drop by for tea. Everyone is curious; a marriage between the Skywalker and Palpatine lineage? It’s a ludicrously prestigious match. It’s likely that one of their sons will be the president. Everyone in the world will want to get their fingers into her.</p><p>He won’t let them, and Rey will see that. The fear in her eyes from the stairs will dim when she hears how much he’s done to keep the world off her, to protect her from the scrutiny that no one bothered to shield him from.</p><p>He repeats the order. “Rey is to be kept in her rooms, out of sight until I can come and collect her for the signing.”</p><p>“You’re going to have her in the room?” Hux says, brow raised. </p><p>“She should understand what’s happening,” Ben mutters. </p><p>He wants Rey to watch as her grandfather signs ownership of her away, wants her to comprehend that whatever kindness or freedom he ever afforded her was a lie, and a cruel one at that. She needs to lose whatever misguided affection she has for her grandfather.  </p><p>What happened to Rey— this unsupervised, reckless running around, the defiant spark that had been allowed to grow in her eyes— was cruel. Training her to a better lifestyle is going to be hard for her, now, and it’s all <em> Palpatine’s </em> fault. </p><p>Ben will never do Rey the discourtesy of lying to her about the reality of what’s happening. Ben has nothing but contempt for men who can’t own up to the realities of the current institutions in favor of sugar coated lies.</p><p>He’s going to pick her up, put her in his house, and she’s going to spend the rest of her life fulfilling the obligations placed on her by her sex and the Global Federation. </p><p>Mitaka stands there in his off-the-rack suit, looking nervous. “Sir, I’m afraid that—” </p><p>Ben exhales, trying to calm himself. Turning to Mitaka, he says, “Inform your master of my wishes.”</p><p>Hux snorts. “Solo, there are four hours between you and that girl’s total legal submission to you. Let Palpatine enjoy pulling the strings while he can. He’s just trying to feel like he’s still got this on you one last time.”</p><p>Mitaka looks extremely uncomfortable. “Sir, I can’t—” </p><p>“The minute the papers are signed,” Ben says, turning to point at Hux, “I want the boat ready. We’re <em> leaving. </em>”</p><p>Hux gives him a lazy salute. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to lock her in a trunk and carry her down to the boat that way? Or perhaps you’d prefer to carry her over your shoulder yourself?”</p><p>He likes the sound of that.</p><p>Mitaka clears his throat. “Ah. If I may be so bold as to intrude?”</p><p>Ben glowers at him, not at all certain he wants to hear this. Mitaka pulls out a sheet of paper, neatly printed with a list of things on it. Ben takes it, looking it over.</p><p>
  <em> Blueberry muffins. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Electric blankets.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Books about nature. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mint tea </em>
</p><p>“What is this, exactly?” Ben says.</p><p>“It’s things she likes,” Mitaka says carefully. “A few things I thought might help her to feel… more at home. She’s a dear girl, we’re all very sad to see her go. If you’d like, I can have the staff collect a few things.”</p><p>This is <em> absurd. </em>A farce. They’re selling this girl, and they talk about her favorite type of muffin? They should just hand her over and stop pretending this is some dear, special occasion. It isn’t. It’s a landmark event, a major financial exchange, and a biological marker that will produce badly needed children. </p><p>It isn’t a fucking birthday party. </p><p>They each have a role to play, and Ben intends to carry his out with vigor. He intends to <em> enjoy </em> it. </p><p>He should have just grabbed her on the stairs, bundled her up, and walked down to the fucking boat. Let Palpatine fucking deal with it. He could be waking up to her in his arms right now, and instead he’s sitting here talking about playing house with a guy in an off the rack suit—</p><p>Mother<em> fucker</em>.  </p><p>It takes a great deal of restraint to lower his voice. </p><p>“Anything she needs,” Ben growls, “She’ll get from me.”</p><p>“In four hours,” Hux mumbles, and grunts in pain as Ben shoves his head forward. </p><p>Mitaka nods in deference. “Of course.”</p><p>And then, very wisely, Mitaka leaves. </p><p>“I fucking hate it here,” Ben scowls, glaring down at the list, and then finally he gives into the weird feeling in his chest and shoves the paper at Hux. "Call the house. I want these things there waiting for her." </p><hr/><p>Five minutes later and Ben is knocking on Palpatine’s study door, his suit jacket unbuttoned and his head throbbing with the beginnings of a migraine. God, if he gets one today of all days he’s going to commit a homicide.</p><p>Ben knocks again, and when no one answers he just opens the door anyway.</p><p>“I need to talk to you,” Ben barks, striding into the room. And then he stops, because standing there next to her grandfather is Rey herself, dressed in a white dress embroidered with little white flowers and silky sleeves. Her hair is brushed back. Someone has gone through a great deal of trouble to make her look beautiful, and for a second he’s robbed of breath.</p><p>Is this the same urchin he’d seen on the stairs? This clear-eyed, elegant young woman with the guarded expression standing here now?  </p><p>“Well,” says Palpatine, getting to his feet, “Seems the young man in question has decided to make our decision for us. Stand to the side, dear, it’s alright.”</p><p>Rey murmurs something to her grandfather, too low for him to hear, and he chuckles and says, “Alright, return to your room if you like, dear.” </p><p>Rey keeps her head down as she walks towards the door, downcast and obedient and <em> leaving the room.  </em></p><p>“Absolutely not,” Ben says, his voice harsh and acrid.</p><p>She flinches, but stops. Good. <em> Good.  </em></p><p>Palpatine sighs. “Benjamin, don’t be dreadful on today of all days.”</p><p>“The house is full of strangers. I don’t want her anywhere near them,” he says.</p><p>“Is that why you came here? To ruin the fun?” Palpatine drawls. </p><p>Rey looks at her grandfather with an off-putting fondness. She doesn’t understand. She can’t understand, she’s grown up here away from the media blitz, from the movies, the pornography that <em> all </em> revolves around finding a young, viable female, and— </p><p>“I’m going to watch her until the papers are signed,” he manages. </p><p>Rey gives her grandfather a pleading glance. She doesn’t want to be alone with Ben. </p><p>Palpatine sighs, weary and put out. “Fine, if you insist, then.”</p><p>“But grandfather,” she starts, tone pleading. </p><p>She’s going to need a <em> great </em> deal of correcting.</p><p>“Rey,” Ben growls, putting as much command into it as he can. She looks at him for exactly one heartbeat and then turns her face away, demure and obedient in a way that makes his dick twitch. </p><p>“That’s right,” he murmurs, extending his arm to her for her to take. It’s a position she’s going to have to get used to. “C’mere.” </p><p>She hesitates, which irritates him, but he reminds himself to be patient. This is a lot for her. Slowly, she reaches her hand out and to take his arm. He tucks her against him, pulling her close, holding her tight so she can’t bolt. </p><p>“Good girl,” he murmurs, too quiet for her grandfather to hear. She looks up at him, startled, and he feels a surge of something pleased and possessive at her wide, pretty eyes. </p><p>Four more hours.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Enter: Benjamin "i think the fuck NOT" Solo</p><p>thanks for reading! the best way you can support my work is to leave kudos or a comment. I appreciate it very much!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>sorry for the bad gender politics but uh </p><p>WE IN HERE</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>4.</strong>
</p><p>“Don’t look at anyone but me,” Ben mutters as they leave the office. </p><p>Rey bites her tongue, warring between saying something to piss him off on purpose and trying to make a good first impression. </p><p>In the end, the knowledge that he’s going to legally take ownership of her in a few hours motivates her to hold her tongue. Better to not poke the hornet’s nest. </p><p>She’s quiet as they walk through the house, down the long hallway from the office to the central staircase that leads up to her room. The handful of people in the house— officials and businessmen, mostly— stop and stare blatantly. </p><p>Most of them, she recognizes. They come to the island sometimes to have meetings with her grandfather, and they bring her pretty gifts and stare at her openly across the table. Ben glowers at all of them. </p><p>“This is absurd,” he says, putting his hand on the small of her back.</p><p>“It’s just a few houseguests,” she points out mildly.</p><p>He grunts. “Look at the floor. Let me guide you.”</p><p>By the time they get to her door, Rey is nearly vibrating with nerves. She slips inside, hesitating with her hand on the door. Ben stands at the threshold, his hands in his pockets, his face unhappy.  </p><p>“Have I— have I displeased you?” </p><p>His eyes snap to hers, his jaw working. “No, pet. You please me very much.”</p><p>The relief that floods her body is a little embarrassing. But she <em> wants </em> to get this right. Wants to make him happy. That’s what will ultimately make her happy, in the end, isn't it? But she's also scared, keyed up in a new and unpleasant way.  </p><p>“You don’t… you don’t look happy,” she says, when he makes no move to leave. </p><p>His grip on the doorframe tightens, his jaw clenched. From the atrium, they can hear the sound of voices mingling, glasses being poured. </p><p>After another tense moment, he exhales sharply. </p><p>“This whole transaction event is absurd. I don’t want you around all these people. Do you know what the men in this house would give to have you?” </p><p>“Fifty million dollars?” Rey tries. </p><p>His brow arches, and his lip twitches. But he just says, “It’s an insane risk. To hear that he had men out here all the time you were out here…”</p><p>He trails off, a faintly murderous look in his eyes. </p><p>“So you’re… gonna stand here and guard the door?” she says. </p><p>“Until I have to go sign for you, yes. One of my guys will take over and watch the door. He's armed,” he adds, giving her a smile like this is a comforting thought. </p><p>“Sounds like the guests have more to worry about than I do,” she murmurs. </p><p>His answering silence is … unsettling. She swallows, a little uneasy at the intensity in his eyes.  “I don’t think you need to worry. They all know me. They all know me. None of them would—” </p><p>“Four of the men here today have approached me directly about you. Wanted to outbid me.” </p><p>Rey blinks. “Really? Who?” </p><p>“I don’t want you to worry about it. This will all be over soon. Just go in there, shut the door, and I’ll come collect you after everything is signed and we can leave.” </p><p>An odd feeling swells in her chest at that thought. <em> We can leave. </em> Off the Island. Away. Somewhere else, where there is no ocean in all directions. </p><p>“Is—” she cuts off, her head ringing. It’s not good to ask too many questions. She’s always in trouble for that one.</p><p>“Out with it,” he says firmly. </p><p>She chews the inside of her lip. “Is your house near the ocean?” </p><p>He has very warm, very brown eyes. “About 15 minutes away from the shore.”</p><p>“Could I walk there?” she hears herself say, thinking of all the nights she went down to the water alone, holding her breath so as not to disturb the sunset. </p><p>“No, you can’t,” he says flatly. “But I’ll take you there, if you like.” </p><p>The thought strikes her that, after today, she won’t go anywhere without him. She’ll be near the water, but not on it. There won’t be any more romps. No more alone time. Her eyes mist up. </p><p>His voice goes soft. “I won’t deny you anything. If you’re a good girl, we’ll get along just fine.”  </p><p>“And… if I’m not?” </p><p>
  <em> What kind of man are you? </em>
</p><p>“Then I’ll do my duty as your husband and correct you,” he says, his voice very calm and patient. “I know this is a lot for you, but I’m not going to <em> hurt </em> you.” </p><p>But he <em> will </em> hurt her. That’s his job. To keep her in line and make her have his <em> babies </em> in a house where the waves can’t reach her, and he’s going to swallow her up, and she is going to <em> let him do all of that to her. </em></p><p>“Rey, I’m going to take care of you now. I expect you to rely on me.”</p><p>Rey stares at him, wondering if he can hear how insane that sounds. She might not have romantic delusions about love or freedom, and she might fully plan on giving him exactly what he wants, but he can’t really expect her to trust him. </p><p>She doesn’t <em> know </em> him, and that demand feels unfair. Some of her resentment must show on her face, because he says, “Didn’t like that, did you, little one?” Rey looks at the floor. He reaches out and lifts her chin up. “That’s too bad. You’ll learn.”</p><p>Rey jerks her chin out of his grip, annoyed, tired, and a little frightened. </p><p>“I think I’d like to be alone,” she whispers. He frowns. That was the wrong thing to say, evidently, but she’s going to be with him for the rest of her life. He can give her this. He eyes her, his expression stony.</p><p>“Please?” she tries, supposing that he’s waiting for her to ask nicely.  </p><p>In the hall, the sound of guests arriving in greater numbers filters up. She can hear them swelling in, all coming to bear witness to the marriage. His lips part slightly, his body canted towards her. His voice is soft. Patient. “Have you been off this island, since you arrived here?” </p><p>Rey doesn’t look at him, feeling slightly murderous. “You know I haven’t.”</p><p>“Are you frightened?”</p><p>She could lie to him, but she decides not to. “No more than is reasonable.”</p><p>He chuckles. “Well said. Let me tell you what’s going to happen next, to put your mind at ease. Would you like that?”</p><p>It’s his job to tell her what to do. It’s her job to listen. She knows this, and yet she <em> squirms </em>, wanting shut the door, wanting to be alone and quiet. Ben doesn’t wait for her to answer.</p><p>“You’re going to go shut this door, lock it, and wait quietly for me to come collect you. Then I am going to put you on my boat, which will take us to the mainland. From there, we’ll get on an airplane, which will take us home.” </p><p>Home. She darts a glance up at him. He looks serious and determined.</p><p>“Home,” she whispers.  </p><p>“It’s a very pretty place. Big. You’ll have lots of room. I know you like to be outside. I made sure there was a nice big garden for you.” </p><p>He looks like he’s trying to sell her on the idea of it, which feels... a little funny, really.  Something of her skepticism must register on her face, because he takes a few steps closer and says, “You’ll like it. You can go anywhere you like in the house or on the grounds, and I’ll keep you safe there. You can decorate it however you like.” </p><p>“Safe,” she repeats, very quiet.</p><p>“Very safe,” he soothes, bringing a hand up very slowly, to cup her cheek.  She resolutely doesn’t flinch. She has to get used to him touching her. But his fingers on her skin are gentle, and he smells like pine trees. “And in time, you’re going to give me some pretty babies, aren’t you?”</p><p>She nods, because she’s <em> supposed </em> to nod, and it’s hard to think critically when he’s touching her like this, his thumb moving gently across her cheek. Grandfather said that the female body knows instinctively to yield to superior strength, to go docile and pliant, which is why women can’t be trusted to be out on their own.</p><p>One strong man with the right pheromones, and you can be swept away. Lost. </p><p>“Good girl,” he says, his voice so gentle. “Everything is going to be fine. It’s important to me that you know that, Rey. My job is to protect you, now. Even if you don’t always like it.”</p><p>“What’s my job, then?”</p><p>He tilts his head slightly, like she’s asked him something funny. “To please me.”</p><p>She gives him the faintest suggestion of an eyebrow raise, and he laughs. "Fine, to try. I want you to be happy."</p><p>"I don't want to watch it," she blurts. </p><p>That catches him off-guard. "What?"</p><p>"The ceremony. I don't want to be in the room."</p><p>His brow furrows. "It's your future. Don't you want —"</p><p>"No," she says. Something about it makes her feel cold all over. Like everything here was a lie, and was always a lie, and she's going to lose that memory, too.</p><p>For a second he looks at her, studying her expression. He doesn't look upset, just speculative.</p><p>"If that's what you want."</p><p>"It is," Rey says, a little too quickly.</p><p>He sighs. "I suppose I might not want to be there either, if I were you. I'll send someone for you right after everything is signed, and we'll leave." </p>
<hr/><p>Rey spends her last hours on the Island by resolutely touching everything in her room. Her intimate items, clothes and toiletries, have all been packed up, but she’s not really supposed to bring anything else. It’s Ben’s role to provide for her now. To bring her own things would be to insult his ability to provide.</p><p>So she lays on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it’s like in the room where Ben is agreeing to own her for the rest of her days. Is grandfather sentimental? Will he miss her? Will he let her say goodbye? </p><p>Someone sends up a tray for her, and the burly, dark-suited man gives the servant a great deal of grief before letting him in. The guy sets the tray down and all but runs away, despite knowing Rey for almost her whole life.</p><p>A tide of anxiety swells in her chest. What will her life even be like twenty four hours from now? She’ll be married, living somewhere else and… probably not a virgin, if Ben’s expression at the door had given her any indication.</p><p>That thought makes her a little uneasy, but she knows that her body was <em> made </em> for men to have sex with, so it’ll be fine. He hadn’t seemed like an absolute brute. Still, she rolls onto her side on the bed, her fingers twitching on the duvet. Will it feel good, like how she does this herself? To distract herself, she eats her lunch and flops back on her bed, the white dress spilling out over the covers. </p><p>At some point, she hears a knock on the door, and Ben’s voice says, “I’m going down. Mind you’re ready to go. I want you to wear my jacket.”</p><p>She lays there, staring at the ceiling, until he says, “Rey. Do I need to say it again?”</p><p>“No, I’ll obey you,” she says, the words tripping over themselves. It’s a familiar thing to say, for her. The only strange thing is who she’s saying them to <em> now.  </em></p><p>“Good girl. Hux will come for you in a little bit. Go with him when he says to.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” she mumbles, staring at her left hand. The silver bracelet, with its little whistle and its glinting beads winks at her. There are footsteps, the sound of two men speaking in low voices, and then silence. </p><p>She lays like that for a long time, silent and still and <em> trying </em> to relax, until she hears it.</p><p>The sound of applause. Polite, muffled applause. Rey goes pink as the realization hits her. She’s <em> married. </em></p><p>There’s a soft knock on the door. “Miss Solo? Please come with me.”</p><p>The guard is polite, standing expectantly in the door with his arms crossed. She doesn’t know his name. The redhead who comes in next, though, she recognizes.</p><p>“Miss Solo, pleasure to meet you, my name is Armitage Hux. I am Mr. Solo’s colleague and I’m here to escort you to the boat.”</p><p>“Now?” Rey says, stupidly. Of course <em> now.</em> This is exactly what Ben told her would happen and yet somehow she feels unprepared, like it’s all happening too fast. </p><p>Hux seems unperturbed. “Right now. Is that your suitcase? Ushar, would you—  ah, thank you, yes.” </p><p>The guard picks up Rey’s suitcases with what few of her items she’s allowed to bring, and she takes a few steps forward, wanting to be helpful. “I can carry it.”</p><p>Hux shakes his head, looking at her askance. Not unkindly, though. “Goodness. You <em> have </em> been poorly brought up, haven’t you?”</p><p>Rey stares at him. Without additional comment, Hux reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a water bottle and a white pill, handing them to her. </p><p>Rey eyes them with extreme skepticism. “No thank you.”</p><p>“It’s for seasickness. On the boat.” </p><p>He says this like it’s all very normal and she is being unreasonable for refusing, so she takes them. He says it’s for seasickness, but Rey knows that it’s very commonplace to sedate women in transit. For their own health. Not keen on that idea, she pops the pill in her mouth but traps it under her tongue, keeping her face calm despite the <em> bitter </em> taste. When she swallows the water, she makes sure she doesn’t swallow the pill</p><p>She gives Hux a bright smile, exposing her mouth so he’ll think she’s not hiding anything.</p><p>“Very good. We’ll get along fine,” he says briskly. “Come along.”</p><p>“Oh, his jacket,” Rey says, turning to grab the black suit jacket Ben gave her. The minute her back is turned, she spits the pill out and tucks it into her pocket. Hux is on his phone, and doesn’t notice. </p><p>“Where’s Ben?” Rey says, shoving her arms into the sleeves and wondering why he wanted her to wear this thing. It doesn’t fit, but she admit that it does feel sort of nice. </p><p>“He’s finishing some finalities,” Hux says vaguely, distracted. </p><p>From beyond the door, she hears the sound of raucous voices, male cheers and claps on the back. It makes her uneasy, and she wonders if Ben was right about the risks of having all these people here.</p><p>“Where’s Ben?” Rey says. </p><p>“He’ll meet us on the boat,” Hux says. “Ushar, would you mind taking the lead here? Solo will keep them all in the signing room, but I’d rather no one saw her leaving.”</p><p>“Of course,” says the guard. “Miss Solo? Please stay close.”</p><p>Rey nods, dazed. Hux puts his phone away, nods to Ushar, and then they walk out of Rey’s bedroom. </p><p>The foyer is quiet and empty, but down the hall she can hear more cheering and the sound of glasses clinking. Someone is giving a toast. </p><p>“When I be able to see my grandfather?” Rey says.</p><p>Hux nods. “Within a few weeks. He'll want to see how you're settled.”</p><p>“A few <em>weeks</em>?” Rey says, crestfallen.</p><p>“If you settle in well,” Hux cautions.  </p><p>She won't get to say goodbye.</p><p>“Did Ben forbid him from saying goodbye?” Rey says, a hot flush creeping up her neck as they walk towards the large back doors that open to the decks that lead to the docks. "Was it his idea?"</p><p>Hux throws her a sardonic look over one shoulder. "Of course it was him. He's the only one allowed to make decisions, where you're concerned. I'm just here to enforce them. But you can ask him yourself, when he gets down to the boat."</p><p>They clear the doors, walking fast. The ocean comes into view, salty and roaring gently as the mist roils above it. It’s cloudy and cool and damp. The world is a question mark beyond.</p><p>For a second, Rey thinks about her whistle. If she blew it now, what would happen? Would grandfather’s guards, not knowing that the transfer was signed, take Hux and Ushar out? Could she make it to the boat in time?</p><p>From the docks, the sound of the boat horn sounds through the mist. </p><p>They reach the dock, their steps loud on the wooden slats. She finds herself craning backwards, lagging so that Ushar has to take her gently by the arm and keep her moving forward.</p><p>Tears prick her eyes. </p><p>She’s leaving. He’s not even here, and she can’t say goodbye to anyone. </p><p>“Miss, please step onto the deck,” says Ushar, still gripping her gently. Rey digs her heels in, her jaw set, resolutely not stepping onto the gangway lowered between the dock and the sleek, enormous white boat bobbing beyond. </p><p>“No,” Rey says. </p><p>Hux puts his phone away, crossing his arms with an expression of patient understanding on his face. She's seized by the distinct sense that he has done this before.</p><p>“It will be easier if you simply do not look back. Believe me.” </p><p>“I <em> don’t, </em>” she says. They don’t own her. She doesn’t have to obey them. “Take me back. I want to see my grandfather, I want—”</p><p>“Rey,” booms a voice from the end of the dock.</p><p>All three of them turn to see Ben Solo, tall and charging forward, his jaw set. </p><p>In the mist, he looks almost otherworldly. Her lips part, an odd mix of dread and relief filling her as he closes the distance between them. </p><p>She just stands there, Ushar releasing her arm, Hux blowing out an annoyed sigh and making for the gangway. </p><p>By the time Ben reaches her, she’s crying in earnest, awash in anxiety and anger and kind of cold.</p><p>Ben seems to take all of this in, towering above her, getting <em> right </em> in her space. He’s wearing a black overcoat now, his hair a mess, his eyes bright with something like triumph. Carefully, he brings his hand up to cup her cheek again, but this time his fingers tangle in her hair, slipping behind her head to hold her by the back of her neck.</p><p>He tilts her face back, inspecting her. </p><p>“You’ve been crying,” he says, frowning. </p><p>She brings a hand up to gently brush at the wetness on her face. “It’s just the mist.”</p><p>His eyes narrow, but all he says is a firm, “None of that, now.”</p><p>It’s not immediately clear what he’s talking about specifically. The tears? The lying? There will be more of that to come. That much, she knows. But she doesn’t say anything. If he wanted her to see her grandfather, he would have arranged it. Asking will only disappoint her.</p><p>His voice is very gentle. “People are watching from the house. Onto the boat now, pet.” </p><p>With a gentle smoothing motion at the top of her back, he releases her, turning her around and giving her a gentle push towards the gangplank. Then she’s walking across, and just like that she lands on the deck of the white yacht, officially off the Island for the first time in her life.</p><p>A dizzying sense of vertigo seizes her, and Ben’s hand on her shoulders is the only thing that keeps her from immediately bolting backwards towards the land. Firmly, he guides her towards an open door, and they take the narrow stairs down into the body of the boat. The door shuts behind them, blocking out the noise of the engines and the sound of the sea.</p><p>It is quiet and warm, all built in lights and leather seats underneath pretty windows overlooking the water. With a firm pressure on her shoulders, he pushes her into the nearest chair and stands there, towering above her. Rey brushes the wetness off her cheeks, not daring to look away from him.</p><p>“I have something for you,” he says, after a silence punctuated only by the sound of feet on the deck, engines roaring, and harbor workers making the ship ready to leave.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have,” she says woodenly.</p><p>He gets down onto his knees in front of her, bringing his face level with hers where she’s sitting on the chair. The sense of his immediacy, his closeness is almost overwhelming. He's the first man she's ever really been alone with outside her own family, and the feeling is strange. Like opening a door you never noticed and finding a whole new house on the other side.</p><p>Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black velvet box.</p><p>“Oh,” she whispers.</p><p>There is no proposal. There was never any <em> asking. </em>He simply opens the box, his eyes on her face, and withdraws a simple metal band. </p><p>“It’s just temporary,” he says. “It has my information on the inside. Until you can pick one out that you like better.”</p><p>The boat starts to move and she brings a hand to her mouth, startled into a tiny gasp. Outside, the dock begins to slip away. The panic kicks up again at the sight of the ring, and she feels like a damn fool. All her life, she's been preparing for this. She knew it would happen this way, so why does she feel so unprepared? Scared the way a frightened animal must feel. Trapped. </p><p>“Rey, look at me,” Ben says, very firm, very quiet. </p><p>“Ben, I’m—” she says, her eyes riveted on the sight of everything she’s ever known falling away. </p><p>“Rey, I’ll ask you again. Look at <em> me. </em>”</p><p>The command in his voice is unmistakable, and she turns her face to his. Intense, warm brown meets hers, and he comes a little closer, their eyes level. She wonders if he’s trying to make her feel comfortable, putting them at the same height, letting her have the chair. The world falling away outside them fades. The panic fades.</p><p>“That’s it,” he murmurs. “There’s my girl. Just breathe, and look at me.”</p><p>And then he reaches out, takes her hand in his, and pushes his ring onto her finger. The shock of that is enough to bring her back to herself completely, and she stares at it, getting used to the unfamiliar weight. </p><p>Ben grunts in satisfaction. </p><p>She says, “Oh, it’s—” </p><p>He leans forward and kisses her.</p><p>It happens fast, but not roughly. Just a hot press of skin to hers, and a series of fireworks go off in the back of her head, loud and startling as she sits there, riveted to the spot by the feeling of his mouth on hers. His hand slides to hers, gripping her fingers, holding tightly as his other hand slides to her hip. </p><p>It's slow, almost gentle, but not quite. The noise he makes is deep and rumbly and pleased, and in spite of everything, it's nice. Warm. Gentle. And then he pulls away, lips parted, his eyes molten.</p><p>"Don't think about it," he says, his voice gentle. "I won't have you getting worked up. This is a happy day, for both of us. You've done very well, and you just have to be brave a little longer."</p><p>He's talking to her like she's something small and a little stupid, his thumb running gently along her skin where he's still holding her. </p><p>"I wanted to say goodbye," she whispers.</p><p>Ben leans forward to press a kiss against her temple. "I know you did."</p><p>"Why didn't you let me?"</p><p>He gives her a long, serious look. But all he says is, "You need to rest. Come. There's a room for you." </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>BIG DAY, EH? WONDER WHAT HE'S GOT PLANNED NEXT</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a general reminder to be aware of the tags of this story! i updated them a bit. </p><p> </p><p>A note on the ending (don't read if you don't want more info than what's in the tags already):<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>..</p><p>For those asking, yes I intend on a happy ending, don't worry! but also like... be aware that i'm not ending it on a "women can vote and are equals now" footing, if that's something that's important to you. the ending will end optimistically and happily! not ambiguous or anything. but if you're looking for rey heading to her feminist wine night and then visiting her local voting station.... eeep. sorry. this story's universe is pretty fucked up and i'm not planning on fixing it in the next however many chapters. even though that would be a cool story, too. i just don't have the stamina.</p>
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    <p>The room is compact but comfortable, the bed built into the side of the room so that everything feels cozy and safe. The window's blinds are closed. </p><p>Ben stands in the door, watching her as she tests the mattress for springiness. It's a kind of foam, very different than her bed at home. It doesn't squeak, it just squishes. Huh.</p><p>When she looks back at him, she sees his lips twitch.</p><p>"You like it?" </p><p>Rey flops back. "I've never been on a foam mattress before. It's weird."</p><p>As the boat moves, she can feel the rumble of the engines and the roar of the water against the hull. A light nausea curls in her stomach.</p><p>"When we get you home, you can have whatever mattress you like."</p><p>"Do I have my own room?" </p><p>"Yes. Though you're welcome in mine any time you like, of course." </p><p>For some reason, this conversation is embarrassing, so she sits up and brushes her hair back, clearing her throat. "Ah. Right." Her manners kick in, just a heartbeat past when she should have remembered them. "Thank you."</p><p>He shakes his head. "You don't need to thank me. I'd be a poor provider if I didn't take care of you. It's my role."</p><p>Right. </p><p>His role.</p><p>Rey wonders what else he thinks of as his role, exactly. </p><p>"I think you should rest," he says quietly. "It's going to be a long day."</p><p>"Would you... join me, in my rest," she manages to say. </p><p>He chuckles. "If you asked. But I wasn't planning on resting today, no." </p><p>Not sure if she's relieved or not, she just says, "I'm really not tired."</p><p>"You look... pale," he says, frowning. </p><p>"I've never been sailing before," she admits. "It doesn't agree with me."</p><p>"Didn't you take that anti-nausea medication I sent for you?"</p><p>Rey's lips twist. "No."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I was afraid it was a sedative."</p><p>He blinks, opens his mouth like he's about to say something, and then shuts it. When he does speak, his voice is tight and controlled. </p><p>"Has that happened to you before?" </p><p>Rey swallows. "Once or twice. When I was overly distressed." </p><p>That's a lie.</p><p>When she was sixteen, there were days she found herself just... crying. Laying in her room in the grips of a terrible despair that she couldn't even articulate. It was during the crying days that someone would be sent up with a white pill and a glass of water, and she would take it and wake up in her own bed the next day. </p><p>Ben's grip on the door goes a little tighter. She wonders if he knows how expressive his face is. For a guy who seems as buttoned up as he is, he's remarkably easy to read. </p><p>"I know you don't have any reason to believe this yet, but I wouldn't do that to you."</p><p>"Of course not," she agrees, not sure what she thinks, exactly. Ben's a scary guy. But so far, his main objective seems to be making her face reality. Still. A doctor was the one who gave her grandfather the sedatives. She'd been there when he did it. It was a done thing </p><p>"Look," Ben says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little bottle and handing it to her. "It's just Zofran."</p><p>Rey looks down at the pill bottle. Her vision swells when she realizes that the prescription has <em>her</em> name on it. Even before the papers were signed, he could take out a prescription for her. A sudden conviction that the world waiting for her is different, more frightening than she thought, seizes her. Her hand on the bottle starts to shake, the pills rattling in their plastic cage.</p><p>"Rey," Ben says, taking a few steps forward. "Here. Look, I'll take one too. So you know it's safe."</p><p>Gently, he takes the bottle from her unresisting fingers, uncapping the lid and taking a pill out. He pops it into his mouth and swallows it dry, just like that. </p><p>"Just an antiemetic, I promise. Take one if you want to. Or don't. I won't make you." </p><p>She might have argued if the nausea wasn't getting worse. But it is, so she holds one hand out and swallows the pill he places onto her palm without further comment. Then they look at each other, apparently at an impasse.</p><p>"I don't feel anything," she whispers, the nausea swelling a bit as the boat picks up speed. He's standing in front of her, her eyes level with his navel. It feels weirdly intimate, and she can't really fathom that she'll be seeing him undressed. Soon. Maybe really soon. </p><p>"You will," he says. "Just give it ten minutes or so."</p><p>Her voice is a whisper.  "Right." </p><p>"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" </p><p>"No," she whispers.</p><p>There's a long silence. "You look unhappy. What can I do for you?"</p><p>The way he says it makes her feel like he has something riding on this. That he wants her to be happy, which feels sweet but totally insane, at least for the minute. The room feels cramped, suddenly.</p><p>If her world is to be very small, then she at least wants to see as much of it as she can.</p><p>"Can I stand on the deck?" She whispers. "I'd feel better in the open air."</p><p>He hesitates, glancing at the window at the mist and rain that must lie beyond it. </p><p>"It's wet on the deck."</p><p>"I'll be careful," she says, eager now. And then, pressing her advantage— "I'd hold onto you."</p><p>He looks at his hands for a second. Then, "Go get your jacket."</p><p>She brightens, hopping to her feet. That puts her within just a few inches of him, the sudden closeness almost as overwhelming as everything else that's happened today.</p><p>Neither of them move, like they're both adjusting to this new reality where she's upright, and close to him, and he's looking down at her face with his lips parted.</p><p>"Rey," he says, very slowly. Her heart beats faster. "I'm going to put my arms around you." </p><p>It's not a question. But it was never going to be one, was it? </p><p>Slowly, like he's scared she'll bolt, he pulls her into a hug, his big arms drawing her close, his chest hard against her cheek. They stand there for a minute, him putting his face on her hair, her closing her eyes and breathing in the smell of him. They have to get used to each other, now. </p><p>"Good girl," he sighs, his voice low and rumbly, pleased. "You're doing so well."</p><p>The praise warms, and as they stand like that for a while, the nausea gradually fades. Maybe it's the meds. Maybe it's that he smells nice. Maybe it's that she knows that she's doing what she's supposed to do. Being held. Being safe. That's her job. </p><p>Everyone tells her this, and yet Ben's arms don't exactly make her feel docile. They make her feel squirmy and agitated, but in a good way. A strange way. Maybe he'll kiss her again. Tilt her face up like he seems to like doing, brush her hair back, press his mouth to hers— </p><p>"Alright," he murmurs, kissing her on the top of her head before releasing her. "Run along." </p><p>Is it psychotic that she feels disappointed? Pink at the ears, she turns around and walks back into the main cabin. This is the second plan of his that she's gotten out of. He wanted her in the signing room. She didn't go. He wanted her to rest. She's not going to. Hope bubbles up. Maybe they can get along. Maybe he'll be nice. </p><p>The hug was nice. The kiss wasn't bad either. If sex is nice like that... she'll be okay.</p><p>By the time he comes out of the back bedroom, his hair a little rumpled. She wonders if he mussed it up when she left. Maybe he liked the hug, too. He puts his hand on the small of her back, guiding her up the narrow stairs that lead to the deck. When they get to the door that opens, Ben knocks in a particular pattern, and then someone on the outside opens it.</p><p>Okay. </p><p>So.</p><p>Maybe she won't be able to entirely get her way about <em>everything</em>.</p><p>But as the fresh air buffets into her, the scared feelings ease. Ben holds her firmly by the hand, probably because the textured floor underneath is slippy under her ballet flats. Cool sea air buffets against them as the yacht powers through the churning surf, salt spray tangling in her hair and kissing her face. The deckhands go still, whatever jokes or conversation they'd been making abandoned. There's just the noise of the engine, the churn of the sea, and the sound of Ben's boots on the deck as he guides her toward the front.</p><p>The fog all around them means that there's not much of a view, but as Ben leads her to the very front of the boat and stands behind her as she leans against the railing, she doesn't mind. She doesn't mind when he wraps his arms around her again, both of them facing the sea, both of them straining ahead, wondering what's going to come.</p><p>Part of her wants to turn back, to squint at the distance and see if she can make out the Island. But Ben brings his face down and kisses her very slowly on her temple, and she shivers. He dips his head, pressing a kiss under the collar of the suit jacket he gave her, his lips hot against the sensitive skin of her neck. </p><p>"Don't look back," he murmurs. </p><p>He's very warm against her back. His hands are very firm around her body.</p><p>She doesn't.</p>
<hr/><p>A few hours later and they are docking at a private marina, and Ben holds her tightly by the hand as he leads her off the boat, his posture tense in a way it wasn't before. She's wearing the hat he gave her to put on, her hair tucked up. </p><p>As they walk down the dock, Rey strains to get a good look at everything. They're at a little airport right on the water's edge, fenced in with bright lights pointing outwards. When they reach the end of the dock and her feet hit the asphalt, she wants to take a minute and stoop down to touch it. The Mainland. She's never been here before. Not since she was born. </p><p>But Ben just says, "Sorry, sweetheart, we have to move," and doesn't let her stop. He keeps scanning the edges of the airport like he's hunting for danger, and something of his alarm makes its way into her, because she picks up her pace.</p><p>Hux ambles behind them, his hands in his pockets, a faintly sardonic look on his face. He gives her a wink when she looks back at him.</p><p>The airport is quiet, and there are men with guns standing around. Even they look at her, their expressions stony but their eyes riveted. It makes her uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable, and Ben's hand suddenly doesn't feel tight enough. She squeezes, and he squeezes back. </p><p>Then they're onto the tarmac, striding towards a sleek jet. Rey's seen plenty of helicopters before, and of course she's seen airplanes in moves, but up close this one is smaller than she'd been expecting. Not a big commercial jet, but something sleek and glossy. The door is open, a set of brightly lit steps leading up into a honey colored interior.</p><p>Crewmen scurry around it, being barked at by Ben's team or loading bags into the plane with much shouting and urgency.</p><p>"Up you go," Ben says, pushing gently on her back when she hesitates at the base of the stairs.</p><p>One step up, she turns and looks over Ben's head at the dark water just beyond the fence. The sea is brushing up against the harbor rocks like it's trying to reach her, like it's crying for her—</p><p>"Rey, I'm sorry," Ben murmurs, something tense and pleading in his face. Guilt? Fear? "<em>Please</em>." </p><p>She turns her face away from the water and climbs the final steps into the cabin. Ben is right behind her, then Hux, then two other men, including the guard from outside her door. </p><p>Leather seats, warm, ambient lighting, and the smell of something expensive and nice fills the air. </p><p>Ben guides her to a seat that looks like a couch built right into the plane, kisses her on the forehead, and turns to speak to the pilot. His shoulders are relaxed. She's not sure why, but somehow it feels like the worst is over. </p><p>Hux sprawls out on the chair across from hers, his brow raised as he settles his brief case on the floor next to him. He's got something of the same air about him as Ben, only wirier. More energetic. Ben has something slow and deep about him, whereas Hux reminds her more of a river than a lake. </p><p>"I hope he hasn't <em>smothered</em> you. He's been a brute this whole week, but now that we're back on land he'll calm down. How are you feeling?"</p><p>Rey glances at Ben, not really sure if she's supposed to be talking to Hux. But Ben seems unconcerned, so she answers honestly.</p><p>"Weird."</p><p>Hux nods sagely. "My Rosie was the same way. Quiet as a mouse the whole way back to the estate. She felt better once the doors were shut and we got used to each other. It'll be the same for you."</p><p>Rosie. Rose? Rey wonders what she looks like. If she's like the girls that Rey met once or twice, all wan and fading away. </p><p>Hux must see her curiosity because he smiles. "I got her from one of those awful cults. You know, the ones in Wyoming with the militias? Took a few days just for the medication to get out of her system. Poor thing. But that's what happens when you frontier people get ideas. You're lucky to have grown up like you did, really."</p><p>Rey doesn't really know what he's talking about, but nods when one of the guards sets a tray in front of her with an assortment of herbal teas and a pretty teapot full of hot water. </p><p>As Rey picks a tea bag, someone hands Hux a glass of what looks like brandy. He takes a long sip. Then he resumes his topic. "She's looking forward to meeting you, in fact. She wanted me to send these along for you. Said you might need them."</p><p>Rey sets her mug down, eager to see whatever it is that Hux is pulling out of his briefcase.</p><p>He hands them to her, and she looks down at— </p><p>A pair of socks. They look handmade, thick and fluffy and pale pink, tied up with an elaborate, colorful bow. Rey loves them, and immediately kicks off her damp ballet flats and untwines the ribbon to push her feet into the soft knit. It's soft and warm, and the gesture is so kind and thoughtful that Rey kind of wants to cry. But Hux is looking at her, so she doesn't. </p><p>"Please tell her I love them," Rey says, looking at her feet on the plush carpet with satisfaction. </p><p>"I'll be sure to." </p><p>Ben comes back then, sitting next to Rey and draping his arm along the back of the seat, brushing the back of her neck with his long fingers. </p><p>"Are those from Rose?" Ben says, looking at Rey's feet with a smile on his lips.</p><p>Hux chuckles. "She's been knitting like a madwoman for the past three months. I can't keep enough yarn in the house for her. But, you know, ever since I had to put a stop to the horseback riding I can't bear to deny her anything."</p><p>Ben grunts. "How's the baby?" </p><p>Hux sighs. "Healthy, so far. Due in two months. I honestly can't believe how fast it happened. You know, with the synthetics there's always a tiny chance, but with Rose, you know, knowing that it would be viable, it was an entirely different feeling- "  </p><p>Ben clears his throat. Hux cuts off, his eyes flicking to Rey. And then he gives her an apologetic laugh. "I'm sorry, my dear. I don't mean to be crude. I'm not accustomed to being around you."</p><p>The door to the plane shuts with a bang, and Rey tenses a little at the noise. Wordlessly, Ben slips his arm around her shoulder and draws her back, sliding her towards him until she's leaning against his chest, his arm around her. It's so intimate, and in front of all these people, that it makes her blush.</p><p>But nobody else even <em>looks</em> at them. Like they think this is normal. Maybe it is normal.  </p><p>Trying to relax, she unclenches her muscles, breathing deeply, focusing on the feel of the warmth from his body, the soft feeling of the socks on her feet. She's in an airplane. She's never been in an airplane. </p><p>"Almost home," Ben murmurs into her hair. </p><p>Hux rolls his eyes, takes another drink of his brandy, and turns to his tablet.</p><p>The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and she turns her head a little to look out the window. Ben pulls the blinds all the way up for her, and together they stay like that, watching as the jet moves down the runway. It's almost evening now, the world darkening at the edges as the plane picks up speed with a scream of engines. </p><p>She has one second to feel absolutely certain that they're going to be incinerated, and then the plane lifts off. The feeling is like her stomach has just dropped three inches in her body, and Rey can't contain her excitement. She gets onto her knees, nearly flattening herself against the window to peer down at the world as it falls away from her. She's too full of awe to even feel frightened, watching as the airport gets smaller, exposing the roads and highways beyond. </p><p>It's amazing. Like magic. They're flying. Hux doesn't even look up, but Ben is looking at her, his eyes fond and happy. Content. </p><p>She turns back to the window, biting back a giddy giggle. Then her eyes catch on a cluster of men standing at the gate of the airport. She can see them, smaller and smaller all the time, as they point up at the plane, waving furiously, until their forms are obscured. </p><p>"There are people at the airport," she murmurs, trying to keep her voice low and just for Ben. "Watching the plane take off."</p><p>Ben makes a thoughtful noise.  "I'm sorry. There will be more at the airport near the house. When we land, I'll want you to stick close. You understand?" </p><p>Rey nods, distracted as she takes in the web of highways and streetlights, the concrete downtown of city whose name she doesn't even know. The world. Right there. Blocky and concrete and full of metal and men. It's not built for her. She knows that. Knows she's not really designed to live there, but even so. It gives her a thrill just to be near it.</p><p>"Can you take me to the city, sometime?" She hears herself say.</p><p>Ben is silent. "It will depend."</p><p>"On?"</p><p>Hux scoffs, cutting in. "The likelihood of your starting a riot." </p><p>"Not right away," she concedes. "But someday?"</p><p>"Then news is speculating that it'll be at least two years before you give her a public appearance," Hux says casually. "Are you planning on disappointing them?"</p><p>Ben glares at Hux. "One thing at a time, <em>Armitage</em>."</p><p>Hux sighs dramatically. "Fine. Wrap her up in bubble wrap if you like. She'll understand it when she sees the crowds lining the road to the estate."</p><p>Rey turns to look at Ben, confused. "There will be crowds on the road, too?" </p><p>Ben grimaces. "I"m afraid so. We're working with local police but... people are very curious, that's all." </p><p>Rey sinks back down into the chair, the giddy feeling of air travel evaporating a little. Rey thinks about how angry Ben was that her grandfather let strangers into the house. She thinks about the deckhands, and how they'd stared. </p><p>Without another word, she leans back against Ben. He makes a satisfied noise as she curls up against him, like a small animal seeking comfort. He kisses her on the forehead, drawing her close.</p><p>"Almost home," he murmurs.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading! kinda neat we hit 4k hit! i really appreciate your comments if you're enjoying the fic.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*edward cullen voice* </p><p>since i'm going to hell...... have smut</p><p> also i realized this probably isn't actually daddy kink so i took that tag out sorry!</p><p>
  <b>friendly reminder to please check the tags</b>
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    <p>
  <strong>6.</strong>
</p><p>At some point, she drifts off, dozing against Ben and only waking when the rumble of the plane touching down rouses her. Ben is stroking her shoulder, rumbling something quiet and soothing as the shock of the touchdown jolts her awake.</p><p>But the plane lands and taxis smoothly to a stop, and then Ben is handing her the hat she was wearing before. Dutifully, she puts it on, tucking her hair up. It’s a disguise, she knows, to hide her hair, but it still feels weird even if she sees the sense in it. Her grandfather didn’t like her to hide her hair. It feels odd to stand up and not feel the weight of it down her back.</p><p>Someone opens the hatch of the plane, and evening air fills the room. They weren’t in the air for long, but it’s nearly dark now. </p><p>Hux disembarks first, and Rey quickly peels the socks off, stuffing them into the jacket around her shoulder and shoving her feet into her ballet flats. Immediately, she misses the warmth. But then there’s no time to think about that, because she’s being led out of the plane, down the stairs towards an SUV idling on the tarmac. </p><p>Hux stands at the bottom, watching her impassively.</p><p>In the distance, she can make out a city skyline, but they’ve arrived at another one of those small, private airports, and there’s no one around but then. Big, industrial lights illuminate the distance between the plane and a sleek, dark car idling there.</p><p>Ben puts pressure on the small of her back, his voice low and urgent. “Go.” </p><p>She goes.</p>
<hr/><p>Rey hasn’t actually spent much time in cars. More often, it was electric golf carts, so the sleek, air conditioned SUV is a bit of a marvel with its soft leather seats and dim lighting. She peers out the window, wordlessly accepting the bottle of water that Ben hands her and drinking from it greedily.</p><p>“Rey,” he says, tearing her attention away from the sight of the airport as it starts to slide past them. They’re driving <em> on </em> the runway, which feels insane, headed towards a gate at the other end. </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Sit with both feet on the floor,” he says. </p><p>She doesn’t <em> want </em> to. She’s agitated and fidgety, and would be much more comfortable on her knees on the seat, with her face pressed against the glass.</p><p>He makes a disapproving noise. “Rey.” </p><p>Risking a mutinous glance, she sits properly in the chair, turning her head as far as she can to stare out the window. In the row of seats ahead of them, Hux snorts. </p><p>Ben pulls out his phone and puts a hand on Rey’s knee, stroking absently. It’s odd, how quickly she’s acclimated to the feel of him touching her. Any chance he gets, it seems that’s what he’s doing. Touching her. </p><p>By the time they get out of the airport, she forgets the sensation entirely, because she’s staring out the window at the world. She’s <em> in it. </em>Driving down streets lit by big, LED bulbs that illuminate store fronts for restaurants, shops, glossy billboards. </p><p>She sees people, too. Men, striding down the street, sitting at brightly lit cafes with little boys on their laps or running in parks playing games on elaborate, brightly colored playground equipment. </p><p>It’s a mid sized city, clearly populated mostly by men with boy. The urban area she saw from the air was more gridlike, with less greenspace. This must be a suburb. </p><p>“It’s a commuter city,” Ben supplies. “Most of these men work in the factories, or in the computer centers.” </p><p>They drive on, entering an area that has no children or fathers. Signs advertise the sexual services of synthetic women on call. Rey peers, wishing she could see one. Grandfather says that synthetics are an abomination, virtually incapable of reproduction. Lab creatures that shouldn’t have been attempted.</p><p>Ben’s stroking on her leg starts to become distracting, sliding a little further up her leg. She takes a deep breath, trying not to tremble. </p><p>But he just says, “Seems like the decoy vehicle worked. Most of the crowds have gone.”</p><p>Decoy vehicle? </p><p>Hux grunts. “Fantastic. I thought I was going to have to crash at your house with the crowds blocking the roads. No offense, but I’m going to have nothing to do with you for the next week, Solo.”</p><p>Ben laughs. Rey turns her face back to the window. </p>
<hr/><p>Ben’s house has a fence so tall that Rey’s first impression of her new home is a big white wall. A gate opens, admitting the car, and then she pulls out of her restrained position and sits forward, trying to see out the front window. </p><p>Ben chuckles, but doesn’t stop her. He just puts a steadying hand on her back. </p><p>It’s big. That’s the first impression. </p><p>Huge, really, and made of a kind of gray stone and stylish, unfinished timbers. It’s built into a hill, the long driveway curving forward around the curvature of the earth. Brightly lit against the encroaching darkness, it looks part enormous ski lodge, part fortress. </p><p>The car comes to a stop under an enormous, structural archway, and the double doors that open into the house are wide open, spilling yellow light onto the cement driveway. Hux gets out first, and she can hear the sound of birdsong, the gurgle of a fountain, and the faint hum of harp music.</p><p>Ben gets out, and Rey just sits there, her fingers gripping the seat, paralyzed. The driver and the rest of Ben’s staff have all left, politely making themselves scarce and walking to their own vehicles, parked in the driveway. </p><p>The reality of it hits her anew. </p><p>The experience of leaving the island had been hard. Taking the plane had been exhilarating. But this… this she doesn’t know how to feel about. </p><p>Ben stands there, his expression calm as he watches her. His expression says, <em> I have all the time in the world. I will stand here and watch you for the rest of time, if I want to. </em></p><p>Reflexively, she runs a finger across her bracelet. Still silver, still with the little whistle. If she blew it now, nothing would happen. Nobody would protect her. Legally, she and Ben are one person, and that person is Ben.</p><p>Hux says something low and quiet to Ben, and the two men shake hands.</p><p>Giving her a little wave, Hux says, “See you later, little spitfire. Have fun.”</p><p>Ben gives Hux an annoyed glance, and then the redhead is leaving. Then she hears the slam of a car door, and she and Ben are alone. </p><p>Rey,” Ben says, very quiet and patient. “You can’t stay there forever.” </p><p>“Only because you wouldn’t let me,” she mumbles. It’s an odd thing to say. The wrong thing to say. His jaw works.</p><p>“No. I wouldn’t. I think we understand each other on that point, pet.” </p><p>“I don’t— I don’t want to,” she whispers. </p><p>He looks at his shoes. “I know. I’m sorry. But this is the hard part. Once you get used to it, it will be easier for you.” </p><p>But what if it’s not?</p><p>Then she’d be better off facing it now. </p><p>Drawing on her dwindling reserve of strength, she gets out of the car, her hand brushing the soft fleece of the socks Rose made for her. It gives her strength. Rose, whoever she is, has done this before. Rey won’t physically die from this. They don’t let women die if they can help it.</p><p>With her feet on the ground, she looks up at the huge house, the open doors, the marble floors, sweeping ceilings, and huge windows she can see. He looks at her looking at the house, his mouth working, his hand opening and closing reflexively. </p><p>“Do you like it?” he murmurs. </p><p>“It’s huge,” is all she manages to say. </p><p>“You’re distressed,” he says. </p><p>“I’m overwhelmed,” she admits. </p><p>“And frightened?”</p><p>Terrified.</p><p>“Not really,” she murmurs.</p><p>He grunts, and then he’s crossing to her, scooping her up in his arms in one swift movement that’s so quick and shocking that she yelps. Her first steps into her new home aren’t even on her own feet. </p><p>They stride into the house, Ben holding her like that as she twists and squirms ineffectively.</p><p>“You need rest,” is all he says.</p><p>“Ben,” she objects.</p><p>“Hush,” he says, ignoring her attempts to free herself and walking her past a huge living room with low, padded couches and thick blankets. A fire blazes, and huge windows expose a view of distant mountains and what looks like it might be a garden. </p><p>Beyond that? A wall. She can see how tall it is even from here.</p><p>“Ben,” she says, struggling in earnest now, panic clawing up her throat.</p><p>“Be still,” he says, carrying her past a kitchen with a massive oak dining room table, marble counters. Much fancier than at home. Everything has rounded edges, all the lighting is a warm, soft pinkish yellow color. </p><p>Then down a hallway lined with doors that are shut, picture frames on the wall with no pictures in them, dim lighting sending a diffused, calming light down on her, and there’s a smell in the air like fresh cut flowers. </p><p>Someone has taken a great deal of trouble with this house.</p><p>They reach a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, and he pulls a door open without further preamble, revealing a carpeted room with a modern bed set low against the floor, big windows opening over a view of the garden, and beyond that the gate they entered through. </p><p>But it’s the bed that her eyes fix on. Soft, and big, and white, just like the expanse of carpet under her feet. She sees bouquets of pale pink roses and soft pink blankets and curtains that pool on the floor.</p><p>Her room on the Island had been tall and a little narrow, but this space is all diffused light and circles and gentle colors and it only makes her panic <em> more.  </em></p><p>“Put me <em> down, </em>” she hisses, struggling uselessly. God, he’s so tall, so broad, it’s like struggling with a statue. </p><p>Ben just stands there. “You and I need to understand each other.”</p><p>“I understand you <em> fine, </em>” she whines. </p><p>Unmoved, he says, “I am going to do what’s best for you for the rest of your life. And sometimes, you might not like that.”</p><p>Absently, she hears him lock the door. She starts to struggle in earnest, but he still just holds her. </p><p>“But no matter what it takes, we’re going to have a happy marriage. I’m going to make sure you’re safe and healthy, and that nobody is ever going to hurt you.”</p><p>“No one but you, you mean,” she hears herself hiss, infuriated. </p><p>His lips twitch, and then he sets her down. She’s so startled by that that for a minute she just stands there, staring up at him. </p><p>Is he going to strike her? Take her right <em> now? </em> </p><p>There’s a legal component to the consummation. It’s supposed to happen the first night, for legality’s sake, but of course there’s no way to exactly prove it. </p><p>But he only stands there, arms crossed, and says, “Go poke around. You must be curious.”</p><p>She eyes the plush surroundings suspiciously. “Is this my room?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Turning around in a circle, she takes a few quick steps away from him. He looks imposing and out of place in this space, compared to the rounded edges and soft textures. The scale of this room is slightly different than the rest of the house, lower to the ground and a little smaller. It’s clear that it was designed to accommodate female proportions. Ben, standing with studied innocuousness next to the bed, looks like a giant. </p><p>Rey turns her back on him, padding to the little seating area next to the fireplace. Then to the bathroom, which is white and softly lit with travertine floors and gold fixtures and a bathtub the size of the moon. </p><p>There’s a closet, too, full of soft colors and silky fabrics hanging like dead things on pale gold hangers. She stares at it all. So different than her catalogue clothes, these items are thick and don’t even have labels on them. Annoyingly, she likes them. Soft fabrics, no long hems or structured bodices, and what looks like a small mountain of lounge clothes. And what looks like some sensible outdoor clothes, too.</p><p>The only thing she doesn’t seem to have is <em> shoes. </em>That thought makes her twitchy, so she leaves the bathroom.</p><p>When she comes back into the room, Ben is sitting there, watching her calmly. </p><p>“Do you like it?” </p><p>She points at the door. “I’d like to go out there. See the rest of the house”</p><p>He shakes his head. “Not yet.”</p><p>“You said I could go wherever I liked on the grounds,” she says, hating how breathless she sounds. It’s just that the panic is back now. She can’t stop thinking about the empty rows where there should have been shoes. </p><p>“And I meant it. But not just yet. I want to take things slowly.”</p><p>“Slowly?” she can hear how high pitched she sounds. “This has been the most insane day of my life and <em> this </em> is what you want to take slowly?”</p><p>He frowns, getting to his feet, which only makes her feel even more panicked. He’s closing the distance between them and she just snaps. She <em> bolts </em> for the door, yanking at it with panicked fingers. It doesn’t give. Of course it doesn’t give. </p><p>“Rey,” he says, very calm. Very gentle. “Please don’t distress yourself.”</p><p>“I’ll distress myself as much as I please,” she says, the fight rising in her. </p><p>He’s right behind her as she pulls uselessly on the handle. Bringing one massive hand up, he covers her fingers, warm and gentle and stilling the panicked movement without taking her hand off the knob</p><p>“Calm down,” he murmurs, drawing her against him so that her back is flush with his chest and his arms are wrapped around her, holding her still. “I know this is a lot. I don’t think that seeing the rest of the house would be good for you.”</p><p>That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? It’s what he thinks she needs. It’s not any different than on the island. Not really. Except it is because there’s a bed the size of a small country behind them and doors whose locks are so good that she can’t even <em> see </em>them and— </p><p>“I’ll be a good girl,” she whispers. “I promise. I won’t fight you, I won’t disobey you, just— please, Ben—” </p><p>She cuts off the words of a familiar script, taught to her since birth, but for some reason she can’t quite get them out. Can’t bring herself to say it.</p><p>“Please, what?” he murmurs, bringing his head down, pressing his lips against the flesh between her neck and her shoulders. “What do you need, little one?” </p><p>“Unlock the door,” she whimpers. “Please.” </p><p>He groans a little, and with a jolt she realizes that he’s <em> hard. </em>She can feel him, pressed against her as he is, his erection resting against her back and she feels so small, so dwarfed by him that it’s like the words just dry up on her throat.</p><p>“I like it when you ask nicely,” he grunts, kissing her more, up her neck, his hands gently squeezing, groping up the sides of her body as he makes low, pleased sounds into her skin. </p><p>Is that what he wants?</p><p>"Please, please," she whispers, sensation flooding her as his hands rove across her, gentle and insistent. It feels good. Is it bad that it feels good? "I won't run off, just unlock the door, please, just—" </p><p>"Don't struggle, little bird," he murmurs. And then he lifts his hand and presses his thumb into the door, just above the handle. It glows, the concealed scanner disengaging the lock with a little click. The relief she feels is heady, but his grip on her only tightens. </p><p>"Better?" he murmurs. </p><p>"Yes," she admits. </p><p>“My little Rey,” he mumbles, and he sounds almost drunk, low and intent. “I can’t tell you how much it pleases me to have you here. Home.”</p><p>
  <em> You’ll be very safe. </em>
</p><p>He takes a step forward and she doesn’t have any choice but to move with him, boxed between him and the door. His hand snakes down her front and she starts to pant, confused by the mixture of panic and warmth spreading up from her thighs, her toes curling as his kisses flood her senses.</p><p>In a new place, with a new man, with a new last name and a new life, she’s lost. Totally lost. His hands sliding down to rub her sex over her clothes, slow and gentle as he coos soft, pleased noises into her skin. </p><p>She whimpers and he says, “Good girl, good girl, that’s it, you’re going to stay right here, aren’t you?”</p><p>It’s like being drugged, except instead of sleepy she feels twitchy and agitated. There’s nowhere to go. No one but him. Was this what unlocking the door was supposed to teach her? Or is this just how it was going to feel either way? </p><p>“Ben?” she whimpers, feeling him hitch her dress up, his big hands dwarfing her thighs, his erection pushing against her back. What if he's going to take here here, like this? Braced against an open door she doesn't have a hope in hell of opening, pushing into her in one motion the way men are <em>supposed</em> to take women? She doesn't want that. Does she?</p><p>“Hmmm,” he moans, his index finger tracing the seam of her sex over the panties. </p><p>“What’s happening?” she whimpers. "What are you going to do?" </p><p>“I’m going to take care of you,” he says, nudging her feet apart so she stands wider. He pulls her panties to the side and then she feels the blunt digit of his finger lightly tracing over her, slow and insistent. “I’m going to make you feel better.”</p><p>“I’m—” she says, and then jumps as he starts circling her clit with his finger, his hands big enough that it feels very different than when she’s done this herself. He goes slow at first, making her twitch and jump as the first tendrils of desire skitter through her. It’s uneasy, but nice, and he’s warm against her back, holding her up so that as his circles get tighter and faster all she has to do is go limp and be held.</p><p>He props her up against him, holding her tight, making her knees weak and her toes twitch as he rubs against her. </p><p>“So soft,” he murmurs, bracing himself against the door now, grinding himself against her. “Good girl, Rey.” </p><p>A moan slips out from between clenched teeth, and she feels tormented at how <em> good </em> it feels.</p><p>She knows about sex. They’ve explained the logistics of penetration, laying down with your hips propped up on a pillow. Even orgasms, she knows about. Orgasms are a good thing. They make your body more receptive. </p><p>All this, she knows. But Ben slipping his finger inside her with a deft, gentle motion that makes her gasp? This she doesn’t know. This isn’t about reproduction, and it feels so good it's like all she can feel is desire chasing out her anxiety. </p><p>“That’s it,” he croons, his finger insistent and warm, hard and soft at the same time as he pumps into her, rocking in inch by inch. “There’s my girl.”</p><p>It feels so strange, so good on a physical level but <em> twisted </em> on an emotional level. Her gaze slips to the door handle again, her fingers still gripping it even as her arms have given up any pretense of trying to open it. If she tried, would he let her wrench it open? Would he chase her if she stumbled forward into that hallway? Would he allow her to run? Does she want to? </p><p>He pushes deeper and she squeaks at the intrusion, feeling a sharp pinch. “Easy, easy,” he soothes, withdrawing his fingers and redoubling his focus on her clit. The good feeling of it radiates out from where he’s touching her, and she squeaks, stamping a foot against the nameless, white hot desire in her chest. </p><p>She knows what he’s doing. Distracting her. Trying to subjugate her emotions into something that he can control. And she kind of hates him for that, but it’s so hard to <em> focus </em> when all she can feel is that he’s taking so much care with her, being so deliberate, and he knows the right movements to make her body betray her. It makes her twist and spasm against his grip. </p><p>“Hold still,” he scolds, but gently. Fondly. </p><p>She wishes she could <em> bite </em> him. But instead she just grips the door handle even tighter, her knuckles white. His voice is unaffected, even though she can feel him thrusting against her through their clothes. If she's embarrassed by her own reaction, at least she's not the only one getting worked up.  </p><p>"So pretty," he grunts.</p><p>"F-feels good," she chatters. She can't <em>help it. </em></p><p>"I'm going to make you feel so, so good. I just need you to do exactly what I say," he murmurs, kissing her neck and inserting his finger back inside her again. She twitches around him, biting back on a noise. “I want you to empty your pretty head and have a nice little orgasm right here. Like this, on my fingers.”</p><p>He pushes up into her and she feels that pinching feeling again and then it fades, balming out over her nervous system as he kisses her neck, plays with her clit, penetrates her with gentle, steady force until a tide of emotion surges up to answer his touches.</p><p>“It’s too much,” she gasps. </p><p>“What’s too much, pet?” he murmurs. She can hear the smile in his voice. He’s getting <em> off </em> on this.</p><p>“You,” she says, a crest of pleasure dwarfing her.</p><p>"Do you want me to stop?" he whispers, so smug that she could kick him.</p><p>She just moans. </p><p>"There's my girl,” he murmurs. "I'll give you what you need."  </p><p>Then, with merciless tenderness, he gently slides a second finger inside her. She cries out, saturated and blown out and lost. He is all there is. </p><p>“This is where you belong,” he murmurs. “Now be a good girl and come for me.” </p><p>She turns her head, fighting the feeling of her orgasm swimming up behind her eyes. It reminds her of the ocean tide coming in, swallowing everything left on the strand. </p><p>Her orgasm hits her, and she moans against it like she’s trying to take it back. But he moves his hand in her, coaxing it out, letting her clench down on him as hard as she can as she turns her face to bite the arm he has pressed against her chest. </p><p>He grunts in pleasure, crooning at her she’s his good girl, she’s doing so well, he’s so proud of her. Spent, she sags against the constraints of his arms, letting go of her grip on the door handle so that her hand hangs useless in front of her. </p><p>Between kisses, she feels Ben’s mouth spread into a smile. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>&gt;:D</p><p>also i upped the chapter count  lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i just think it's interesting the way that i'm going to hell</p><p> </p><p>  <b> *extremely dubcon/noncon fic warning intensifies* </b></p><p>this chapter is intense heads up</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>7.</b>
</p><p>“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmurs, straightening up and taking her with him. She’s still flattened against him. </p><p>“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said, trying to sound as mutinous as she can. It only comes out breathless, and she knows she’s still flushed and jelly-legged. Embarrassing. </p><p>“Hmm, there’s that attitude.” </p><p>“Please let go of me,” she whispers. </p><p>“I’m afraid you’ll fall over,” he murmurs, chuckling a little as he absently brings a hand up to stroke her nipple, sending a frisson of sensation through her. “Look at you. You’re a mess.” </p><p>“What happened to— to rewarding good behavior?” she stutters, hyper sensitive after the orgasm. </p><p>He brings his mouth to her neck again, doing that <em> thing </em> that feels good. “What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“I did what you asked.”</p><p>He makes a pleased noise, low and deep in his throat.</p><p>“And what was that, exactly?”</p><p>She chews on her lip, trying to get the courage to say it.</p><p>When she’s silent, he pinches her nipple gently. “You did exactly what I told you and came all over my hand, didn’t you, little thing?” </p><p>Rey closes her eyes, the words filling her with a strange kind of heat. Part shame, part desire, part indignation. </p><p>“Don’t be mean,” she whispers. </p><p>His nipping at her neck turns to kissing, soft and luxurious. “It wasn’t a criticism. You did exactly what I asked. But you’re right, I should reward you for doing what you’re told. What would you like?”</p><p>She breathes through the sensation of his hands on her, the sticky feeling of her own wetness between her thighs, the way her panties are still bunched to one side, giving him access. </p><p>“I want to see the house. I don’t want to stay in this room,” she whimpers, feeling his erection again. He feels… enormous. Granted, her frame of reference isn’t huge, but still. That hurdle is one she’s not exactly in a hurry to jump.</p><p>“I want to be clear about something,” he says, so low it’s almost a whisper. “I’m going to take you tonight. Letting you out for a bit won’t change that.”</p><p>Rey nods her head slowly. What he’s saying isn’t exactly a surprise. “I know.”</p><p>“Then run along.” </p><p>He releases her, the iron grip of his big arms slackening so she can scamper out, almost falling over herself. When she turns around and looks back at him, her hand on the door knob, she’s taken aback at the sight of him.</p><p>He’s still enormous. Must be a foot taller than she is. But more than that is the edge of something uncontrolled and a little wild about him. He makes no apologies for his erection, just stands there with his arms crossed.</p><p>He’s being <em> patient. </em>And that thought freaks her out probably more than it should. Maybe it’s that she was somehow less prepared for this brooding, looming figure than she was for the cold, forbidding man she’d always thought he’d be. Ben seems intent on walking the line between coercion and gentleness, and something about that is… </p><p>Well, she doesn’t have a word for it exactly. </p><p>Glancing back at the knob, she gives him a pleading glance before realizing that she’s <em> asking permission.  </em></p><p>God, he’s got her beat already, doesn’t he? Without ever raising a hand. Is there a handbook for doing this sort of thing? Some slim, elegant handbook passed between rich men like a family secret? There must be, because whatever he's doing to make her fall into line is working<em>.</em></p><p>He smiles. </p><p>It’s not that she <em> wants </em> to defy him, but she hates feeling so conscious of the leash he has on her. He hasn’t even chipped her. Hasn’t even fucked her. Right now, all that binds her to him is legal paperwork. Until there’s a consummation (and the ensuing potential of a child), if someone else got control of Rey, it would come down to a court battle. </p><p>Possession is nine tenths of the law, which is something he is undoubtedly aware of. </p><p>But all he says is, “Take off your shoes, first.” </p><p>Rey stares at him, conscious of the flimsy ballet flats on her feet right now. This… feels like a test. If her closet was any indication, he’s got a thing about shoes. </p><p>It should really be such a simple thing. Of all she’s given up, taking off her shoes is the least of her concerns. But it’s just that she’s pretty sure that if she does, she won’t be getting them back. </p><p>And that, at least, feels like something she can control. Maybe she can’t control who marries, or where she lives, or who the father of her children is, but she can keep her <em> goddamn shoes </em> if she wants to. </p><p>His eyes narrow, like maybe he can sense the direction of her thoughts.</p><p>“Rey,” he says warningly. </p><p>She pulls the door open and bolts. </p><hr/><p>The hallway outside is a blur, long and lined with many doors. She doesn’t try any of them, deciding that speed is probably her best bet. If she can find a good hiding place, she can stash the shoes somewhere. Save them for later. </p><p><em> Save them for what?? </em> She thinks at herself, clearing the hallway. No answer comes back except an overwhelming conviction that this is a challenge she <em> needs </em> to win. He can’t have them. They’re hers. Her shoes, her feet, her body. </p><p>There aren't any pursuing footsteps, which just makes her feel even more frightened. He should be barreling after her, roaring with anger. Except he’s not. He hasn’t even left the room. </p><p>She skitters to a stop, the living room in front of her and the big kitchen off to one side. There are huge cabinets that look like a promising hiding place. Ben probably doesn’t cook. She can stash the shoes and run somewhere else. </p><p>She vaguely notices that the kitchen also sized more for her, the counters level with her hips, the corners smoothed into elegant curves. Ignoring this, she crouches down, shucking her shoes off and opening a big cabinet with as much care as she can. It’s full of appliances. Pale pink stand mixers and a bread machine and— </p><p>“Now, now, Rey,” Ben says calmly from the end of the hallway. Way, way too calmly. </p><p>Panic seizes her. Hide. She should hide. She pushes the mixer aside and just barely makes room for herself, pulling the door closed with as little noise as she can. She shoves the shoes behind the bread maker. </p><p>It’s pitch black in the cabinet, but she can still hear him. </p><p>“And here I thought we were beginning to understand each other. Did I frighten you, little thing?” </p><p>He’d been careful with her on the boat. Gentle. This isn’t like that. This is like their first face to face encounter, when he’d pursued her up the stairs, one step at a time, inexorable as death. Had that really been yesterday? </p><p>
  <em> I’m a good hunter.  </em>
</p><p>“I didn’t realize you were so attached to those shoes. Why don’t you come out and tell me all about it?” </p><p>She forces herself to regulate her breathing, drawing in careful, silent lungfuls. An ancient instinct kicks in. <em> He’ll try and startle you to find you. He’ll make a loud noise. Relax your body. Breathe deeply. In and out.  </em></p><p>But it’s hard to relax when she can hear the sound of his dress shoes on the tile floor, slow and calm as he walks into the kitchen.</p><p>Relax. Relax. Relax. </p><p>The sound of a cupboard door suddenly slamming shut makes her wince, and she bites down on her finger to stop herself from crying out. But she doesn’t make a sound. </p><p>He does, though. “Do you know what I was thinking about, when you were in my arms in your room, choking on that pretty little climax of yours?”</p><p>Rey scrunches her eyes shut. A sick part of her wants to just give up right now, open the door and go to him, answer the question, beg forgiveness and promise to be a good girl. It has to be better than <em> this.  </em></p><p>He opens another cabinet door. Closer, this time. </p><p>“I was thinking about the first time we met. How I let you run from me. That was very wrong of me, Rey. I hope you know how sorry I am.”</p><p>She remembers that moment, too, and knows now that she was right to be afraid of him then. If he’d caught her there, he would have just grabbed her and put her on the boat. </p><p>“It’s not that I blame you for running,” he says calmly. “That’s basic biology. Instinct. You haven’t submitted yourself to me yet. And why would you? You only just met me. But what you don’t seem to understand is that my job is to not <em> let </em> you run.” </p><p>Her thoughts skitter in her mind, frantic and erratic, drudging up useless nonsense in a frantic attempt to help her.</p><p>When the genetic conflicts started, the Western states reacted quickly, seizing control of women. But all <em> that </em> did was make the women who they missed immediately flee to the Eastern states. </p><p>Nearby, Ben shuts another cabinet. “I know you’re angry with me. About not letting you see your grandfather.”</p><p>Rey tries to plug her ears, thinking of those women fleeing in across the new borders. Cramped into boxes, concealed in hidden panels under semi trucks. They thought they were going to safety.</p><p>Her heartbeat is like a drum in the ear. </p><p>“But I asked him to see you down at the dock. Invited him to say goodbye. Do you know what he said to me?”</p><p>She thinks about the way the Eastern states welcomed the women who crossed the border, promising them freedom while calmly and methodically passing a series of legislative acts that enacted iron control over the women in the territory. Careful. Cold. Methodical. </p><p>“Your grandfather looked me in the eyes and said he didn’t want to see you. That you were mine now, and it was better if I just took you and left.”</p><p>Ben Solo is a through-and-through Easterner. </p><p>“I’m not bringing this up to hurt you,” he says quietly. Like he knows she’s close enough that he doesn’t need to raise his voice. “I’m only saying it because I want you to understand that <em> this </em> is your life now. And if we have to do this every night for the next week, month, <em> year</em>, then we will.” </p><p>The bread maker is digging into her heel, and it hurts and she can’t stop thinking about how in just two generations, the Eastern states took almost total control of the reproductive future of the country simply by shutting the borders, controlling access to waterways, highways, roads, doors— </p><p>The cabinet opens and Rey <em> yelps</em>, bright light flooding her vision. </p><p>She has one second to see see his pant leg, his shiny shoes, and then his hand reaches in and hauls her out, pushing her against the counter in a move so fast that she sees stars. </p><p>She stares up at Ben, so afraid she can barely breathe. He stares down at her, his breathing coming a little faster, now, stepping closer until his leg is between her thighs, pushing her legs apart, rubbing against her clit. His eyes blaze and he dips his head, scenting her with a rumble of pleasure.  </p><p>“Look at you,” he says, in a voice of great pity. “Poor thing. I think this has gone on long enough, don’t you?” </p><p>“Wait—” </p><p>He spins her around, pushing her against the counter until she’s draped over it, her cheek flat against the counter. She hears the sound of his belt coming unbuckled.</p><p>“Ben,” she stammers, the shock of it stopping up her words. </p><p>He puts a firm hand on her back, holding her down, his zipper coming undone. She squirms, but that just makes him groan as he rocks himself against her, and she can feel him hike up her skirt, his cock, warm and naked against her back as he pulls her panties down.</p><p>Rey bites down on her forearm, her face flat against the cool marble. She jumps when she feels him touching her with his fingers again, prodding and insistent.  </p><p>“You’ll learn,” he says, his voice patient and right next to her sex. “You’ll learn.”</p><p>Then he puts his mouth on her cunt and Rey <em> keens.  </em></p><p>She’s overwrought, still wet from his ministrations in the bedroom and keyed up on adrenaline and fear and a burning anger too huge to even verbalize. He moves his mouth on her in a way that is focused and direct. None of the hazy, listless kisses, but a focused, high-octane effort.</p><p>It’s a means to an end. </p><p>Gasping as that same tide of pleasure washes through her, she mumbles, “I d-don’t believe you.”</p><p>He lifts his mouth from her with a wet sucking noise that makes her blush to the tips of her toes.</p><p>“I’m not asking you to,” he grunts, sliding a finger back into her, making her clench again. Then he puts the second one in and starts to move them faster, and she’s so <em> embarrassingly </em> wet that she kind of wants to die. </p><p>“There, see?” he says, chuckling. “Your cunt understands, even if you don’t. It’s simple biology. You’re doing exactly right.”</p><p>“H-hate you,” she stutters, her toes curling.</p><p>He goes on talking like he’s not listening. “Again, and again, Rey. As long as it takes.” </p><p>With tender force, he fucks her on his fingers, licking at her until she’s twitching and strung out on pleasure, hating herself, hating him, totally confused by the twin urges in her body.</p><p>Something vital inside her is telling her that this is wrong. But a louder, calmer, firmer voice repeats the directive of her whole life. <em> Let the strong man protect you. Yield. Submit. </em>It’s confusing and chaotic and she can’t stop the tide from tipping over to his corner, twitching and curling in on herself as desire overtakes her brain. </p><p>
  <em> Simple biology.  </em>
</p><p>Abruptly, he gets up, removing his hands from inside her. Something hot and blunt pokes at her, and she jerks, crying out in fear and anger and <em> need </em> as his cock prods against her<em>. </em></p><p>This is it.</p><p>She thrashes, panicked, turned on, <em> furious, </em> and utterly pinned.</p><p><em> Again, and again. </em> </p><p>He sighs, smoothing his hands down her back. “<em>Poor </em> little thing. All that clever hiding and here you are, getting fucked over the counter anyway.” He kisses his way down her back, humming gently. “You know what I think? I think you should be allowed to watch.” </p><p>“I’m —” </p><p>He lifts her up, flipping her over so her ass rests on the edge of the counter, her back flat against the marble as she stares dazedly up at the light fixture overhead. When she looks down herself, she sees Ben standing there, his cock resting on top of her sex, red and angry looking and pointing at her. He’s big. Surely he’s… too big. But he wouldn’t hurt her, right? At least, not in a way that would permanently damage the thing he values her for.  </p><p>He gives her a little yank, pulling her closer. </p><p>She swallows. “Ben?”</p><p>“Wrap your legs around me,” he says, his eyes fixed on her as he starts to lazily rub himself against her opening. She just lays there, paralyzed. He arches a brow. “Or I could hold your legs down on the counter for you. Your choice.”</p><p>It’s an easy choice. </p><p>She wraps her legs around his hips and he bends down, lining himself up with her as he presses a kiss against her thighs. It’s distracting enough that when he pushes into her, she almost doesn’t notice for the first second. </p><p>Then he pushes, more, and this time she feels it. It’s like a stretch, and she was right. He’s big. </p><p>“B-Ben,” she stammers, uselessly gripping his arms as he pushes into her. He bends further down over her, his forearms flat on the counter next to her. </p><p>He makes a sharp movement into her and she cries out. He kisses her, mumbling sweet nothings as he sinks into her. </p><p>“Pretty girl, you’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you, look at you taking my cock,” he croons. She arches her back, her head twisting back and forth. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it feels <em> so </em> strange. Filled up.  </p><p>“Too much,” she whispers. </p><p>“None of that, now.” He kisses her neck, her throat, her jaw, pushing in with slow, deliberate control. His breathing is unsteady. “This is what you were <em> made </em> for.”</p><p>Her body might be making room for him, but in her head she feels herself drumming frantically against itself, the confines of her skull suddenly too close. The cognitive dissonance comes out as a hissed moan through her teeth as the pleasure and the fear fight for dominance. </p><p>Then he bottoms out and she forgets even that as the sound of his hissed breathing and the weight of his body and the feeling of being totally full rolls through her. Dazed, Rey goes slack, her head turned to the side, finally surrendering. </p><p>There’s nowhere to go. </p><p>Her gaze falls to the whistle on her wrist. It makes a delicate, silvery sound as her fingers twitch and jump at the feelings surging inside her. </p><p>“Rey.” He’s ragged, a little unhinged now. “<em>Look at me</em>.” </p><p>There is no question of disobeying him now. </p><p>She turns her gaze to his, lips parted, eyes glassy. Ben dips his head, claiming her mouth in a kiss, and then he pulls back out again, dragging through her with a feeling like a sore muscle being stretched.</p><p>She whimpers, and then he thrusts back in, his tongue in her mouth, his cock filling her up. </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” he moans into her mouth, triumphant, a dictator towering over a conquered land. His motions are getting more erratic, thrusting at her with a passion that feels frightening in its intensity. He moans into her, his satisfaction evident, his words failing as he devolves into a wordless jumble of sounds and feelings. </p><p>“Gonna keep you,” he moans. “So good for me.” </p><p>“Ben,” she squeaks, lost even inside her own body as he thrusts harder. </p><p>“That’s fucking <em> right</em>,” he grunts. </p><p>She keens, the leg hitched around his hip flexing as she adjusts herself slightly, following the promptings of a new kind of instinct in her brain. </p><p>She’s going to come like this. It’s a fact. He’s doing it on <em> purpose.  </em></p><p>Maybe it’s because she’s so wet she’s sure she’s dripping down the cabinet, or maybe it’s that he’s got his thumb on her clit again, rubbing her in a fast, careful circle as he thrusts into her, or maybe it’s just what everyone told her it would feel like. Order. Sanity. Rightness. </p><p>“I want you to remember this,” he says raggedly. “If you run, this is how it will end up. You, bent over with my cock inside you, crying my name as I make you come. And you’re <em> going </em> to come, aren’t you? I can feel you digging your heels into my back. I can feel you, Rey.”</p><p>“I’m not,” she moans. </p><p>But she is. </p><p>“Of course you are,” he soothes, kissing her. “You can’t hide it from me. You don’t need to try.” </p><p>But the harder she fights it the more inevitable it feels. He’s hitting the right spot, his fingers are doing <em> magic </em> on her clit, and his words are going straight into the place in her brain that he’s no doubt trying to speak to. </p><p>“Don’t fight it,” he growls, his voice hoarse. “This is exactly how you should be. You’re fucking <em> perfect </em>—”</p><p>Her orgasm overtakes her and she sobs against it, clenching down hard on him inside her, the sensation like someone has flooded her with serotonin, with joy. Safe, safe, safe. She doesn’t have a choice. </p><p>Ben leans down and grabs hold of her, crushing her as he rocks into her hard, spilling inside her with a grunt of savage, wordless satisfaction and a muffled curse. </p><p>“Good <em> fucking </em> girl,” he says, groaning, incoherent, rumbling pleased noises against her as he collapses on top of her. </p><p>Rey just lays there, thoughtless, boneless, empty, full. He thrusts a few more times, shuddering, and she stares up at the ceiling, aching in some new and nameless way, but satisfied, too. Absently, she knows she should be horrified. But she’s too sleepy, too sated for that. </p><p>Ben pulls out of her, still in his suit and pants, looking down on her with such a look of primal pleasure on her face that it makes her feel even smaller. Even warmer.</p><p>Then he reaches down and slides his arm under her back, lifting her up so she’s sitting upright on the counter, lip as a doll. Her white dress slides back down from where he pushed it unceremoniously up. </p><p>She can feel hot, sticky fluid between her thighs. </p><p>“There now,” he says, his finger working between her parted thighs, reaching down to touch the spend seeping out of her. With a deft, gentle movement, he pushes some of it back into her. “Don’t you feel better?” </p><p>And the worst part is that she <em> does. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>also thank you very very much Claire <a href="https://twitter.com/theriseofswolo/status/1259735264563531776">for the art from this chapter</a> i was honestly blown away, you're amazing. If you'd like to see rey being dirty and sullen on the stairs or getting a neck kiss, cliiiiick that shit. Even her <i>bracelet</i> is in there i'm—</p><p> AHHHHHH</p><p>if you'd like to show support for this trash fire, a kudos or a comment is much appreciated</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please enjoy what counts for fluff in this dystopian hellscape :) also upped the chapter count a little.</p><p> </p><p>(also sorry one more thing about the ending skip if you don't care)<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>Rey gets a happy ending! like as in love and happiness etc. but I would just like people to be aware that there's no huge governmental overhaul, and given their society some huge overturn of the imbalance of power is not going to happen. but think like, mutual respect and good times and a system that works for them etc. it's not going to end on a grim note, if that makes sense.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>7.</strong>
</p><p>Ben picks her up, but this time very gently. He carries her back to her room. He draws her a bath and sets her down on an ottoman at the edge of the tub, which is huge and very deep. Almost like a pool. She watches him as he tests the water, calm and methodical. There are <em> bubbles.  </em></p><p>When he turns to look back at her she doesn’t even try to pretend that she’s not staring.</p><p>“Who <em> are </em> you?” she hears herself whisper. </p><p>He doesn’t answer, the sound of the tub filling up the only noise in the room. He watches her for a long second, then sighs, killing the water. </p><p>“You'll feel better after a bath.”</p><p>She bites her lip, hesitating. But the water does look nice, and she’d like to clean off. The surface of the water, drenched in bubbles, would hide her body. Ben seems to sense her interest and turns around, his back to her.</p><p>He’s giving her… privacy? </p><p>Before he changes his mind, she shucks off the dress, draping it inelegantly across the counter. Then underwear, bralette, hair clips come off, and all the while he stands there, facing the door. The only thing she doesn’t take off is her whistle bracelet.</p><p>Stepping into the tub, she shivers as the warm water comes up to her thighs. It’s a <em> big </em> tub. She sinks down into the water, the bubbles overtaking her until only her face is above the water, her body obscured by foam. </p><p>“Okay,” she says.</p><p>He turns around again, his eyes locking onto hers. </p><p>For a minute they just look at each other, Rey concealed by bubbles, mostly submerged in steaming water that is doing <em> wonders </em> on her tense muscles, and Ben standing at the edge, his knees pressed to the tub. From down here, he seems even taller. </p><p>He takes up all the air in the room, and even as he sits down onto the ottoman, the impression of his broadness doesn’t fade. </p><p>He’s the exact ideal of the modern man. A titan. Everything he should be. So why is he <em> here </em>? This isn’t part of the deal. They held up their respective ends of the bargain. </p><p>
  <em> You’re a very lucky girl.  </em>
</p><p>Ben regards her calmly. “Would you like to talk now, or later?” </p><p>Rey considers the question. On the one hand, she’s naked. On the other hand, she’d really like to start getting the lay of this place now that he seems satisfied he’s achieved his primary goal. </p><p>She makes a choice. </p><p>“Now, please. But don’t get into the tub.”</p><p>He nods. “Okay.”</p><p>There’s a long silence.</p><p>Where do they <em> go </em> now? Everything is done. The doors are shut, the papers are signed, he’s taken her virginity. All the steps in the books lead her here. This is the point where they skip ahead to the part where she’s pregnant and deliriously happy.  </p><p>This… intermediary step where they have to navigate their own relationship and figure out how to live together? Nobody trained her for that. </p><p>But she’s met people before. She’s even made friends before. There’s a basic formula to follow. She clears her throat, and it sounds <em> loud </em> in the silent bathroom.  </p><p>“Hi,” she whispers.  </p><p>His eyes soften. “Hello, Rey.”</p><p>“The bath is nice,” she murmurs. Maybe next they can talk about the weather.</p><p>“I want you to know that you did very well tonight.” </p><p>
  <em> Okay, so, not so much on the pleasantries, then. </em>
</p><p>“Oh. What, specifically?”</p><p>His lips twitch. “Your first time. Well done.”</p><p>She stares at him, openly gaping, thinking about how she’d argued with him, disobeyed his orders, and literally hid in a cupboard rather than take off her damn shoes. </p><p>“You’re not angry?” </p><p>“Why would I be angry?” he says, brows furrowed. </p><p>He looks genuinely nonplussed.  </p><p>“I— hid in a cupboard?” </p><p>He chuckles. “Oh, that. God, you were <em> quick</em>. But no, I’m not angry about that.” </p><p>“Y-you’re not?” </p><p>She feels faintly indignant, which is… psychotic. </p><p>He only shrugs. “I thought it was a reasonable reaction, on your part. I don’t fault you for it. Anyway, I haven’t told you the rules yet. I can hardly punish you for <em> breaking </em>them. Do you want some soap?” </p><p>She nods, a little winded by this turn of events. He reaches over to the row of neatly labeled toiletries and hands her a pale pink bar of soap. Their fingers brush when she takes it. </p><p>Gingerly, she soaps herself up under the water, still reluctant to show herself as she washes off the grime of the boat and the plane and… everything else. They’re quiet for a long time, Rey relaxing in the water, letting the heat unlock her tense muscles. It doesn’t seem to be getting any colder, and she wonders if <em> heated </em> bathtubs are a thing now.</p><p>Something about him seems quiet. Lulled, maybe after the sex. Or pleased that they’re officially legally bound to each other in every possible way. But his calmness makes her risk a question. </p><p>“So, what are the rules?” </p><p>“Ah,” he says, and now he seems on familiar footing. “Right. You will eat and sleep. You won't do anything that could get you hurt—” </p><p>“Does that go both ways?”</p><p>He tilts his head to one side, like she's said something clever and interesting. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“You shouldn’t be allowed to hurt me, either. If I can’t do anything to hurt myself, then it would hardly be fair if you...did.”</p><p>His smile dies abruptly. “I would never hit you.”</p><p>“Good, because if you hit me, I’d hit you back,” she hears herself whisper, handing him the bar of soap, her whistle clattering with a metallic tinkle against the bracelet as she lifts it out of the water.</p><p>He takes the soap, his eyes fixed on the whistle. </p><p>“You have my word that it goes both ways.”</p><p>Mollified, she murmurs, “Can I have the shampoo?” </p><p>He grabs a bottle of shampoo, handing it to her and taking the soap in exchange before settling back on the ottoman. It smells nice. Like roses. </p><p>Holding her breath, she dunks her head, pinching her nose and shaking the strands loose. On the island she used to practice sinking under the water, holding her breath for as long as possible. Even now, she’s still good at it. It gives her space to think. For a minute she hovers there, silent and alone. It’s quiet. Dark. She takes a brisk assessment of herself. There’s a throbbing between her legs, but it’s not too bad. More of a heightened awareness than actual soreness. </p><p>Interesting. </p><p>By the time she comes up, she inhales a sharp breath and blinks her eyes open to find Ben leaning halfway over the tub, his jaw working.</p><p>He’d been worried. Rey stares at him, halfway out of the tub, her breasts displayed for him to see. The blazing look is back in his eyes, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling as he grips the tub. </p><p>“I’m okay,” she says, sinking back down in the tub, hiding herself against the look in his eyes.</p><p>He exhales, seating himself again only as she starts to work shampoo into her hair. He’s staring at her intently, now, his jaw working. </p><p>“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his neck. “I’m a little tense, where you’re concerned.”</p><p>“Am I your first?” she says quietly.</p><p>He blinks. “What?” </p><p>“Your first girl. Grandfather had two, I think. Maybe three. One at a time, obviously. Am I your first?” </p><p>“My only,” he corrects, his gaze direct. </p><p>It makes her turn her face away from him. </p><p>
  <em> Again, and again. </em>
</p><p>“What are the rules about sex? How, uh, often?”</p><p>“Often,” he says flatly.</p><p>She turns that over in her mind, rubbing the shampoo into her hair, not bothering to hide her chest under the bubbles now. The suds trickle down her back, her breasts, her arms, and it feels nice. The bathroom is warm and the air is balmy, and getting to choose what she shows him makes her feel better. </p><p>“Will it always be like that?”</p><p>“Me yanking you out from a kitchen cupboard and bending you over the counter? I hope not.”</p><p>She eyes him. “You didn’t seem to <em> mind. </em>”</p><p>He dips his head in acknowledgement. “No. I didn’t. But I don’t want our sexual relationship to be adversarial. I just had to make sure you understood me. It was faster and easier to do that with sex than… well, any other method I could think of.”</p><p>“We could have <em> talked. </em>” </p><p>“The law doesn’t recognize talking.”</p><p>“Well, I do. Doesn’t that count for something?”</p><p>“With me, it will.” </p><p>Rey’s sexual abilities have always felt more like a resource than a tool. Touching herself in her little narrow room on the island always felt vaguely like theft. She wonders what will happen to her room, now. Will Grandfather find a new granddaughter? He’s getting a bit old for that, she would think.</p><p>“Ben?” He makes a low, questioning rumble instead of answering. “Was what you said about my grandfather true? About him not wanting to say goodbye?”</p><p>He only hesitates for a second. “Yes. You have my enthusiastic blessing if you’d like to tear him a new one, the next time we see him.” </p><p>His expression is unexpectedly earnest. Boyish, almost. Like they have a secret. But of course, for Rey, her grandfather’s rejection is more than just common rudeness. He’s the only family she has. Scrunching her eyes shut, she plunges back under the water and stays there, holding her breath. </p><p>In the quiet space under the surface, she gives herself space to feel the pain of that rejection. </p><p>Ben’s a lot of things, but for some reason she’s very certain he was telling her the truth. Maybe it’s the blunt way he talks. Maybe it’s the anger in his voice. Whatever it is, it strikes her that this is the first thing he’s told her that she believes in absolutely.</p><p>But then, maybe on some level, the pain in her chest isn’t so much about the rejection from her grandfather, but by the fact that she doesn’t feel the shock and outrage she knows she should. There’s no surprise, and that makes her terribly, terribly afraid that she’s always known it would be like this.</p><p>That maybe it really was always about money, and it was never that he loved her after all. Still, there’s grief, because losing a lie that you were clinging too hurts the same as any other broken faith she might have stored in the corners of her heart. </p><p>That lie was all she had for a family. </p><p>But now, she has Ben. Or, better put, Ben has <em> her. </em>Is that difference really so immense?</p><p>The water surges as Ben reaches his arm into the pool and yanks her up, and she knows the answer.</p><p>The water parts around her as he pulls her upright, making her gasp for air, blinking against the soft light. He’s leaning over the tub, the sleeves of his shirt absolutely soaked from where he’d stuck them into the water to grab her. His feet are still on the floor, his thighs pressed against the rim of the tub, but he's got his hands all over her, running down her arms like he's checking that she's still there. </p><p>He looks agitated. It’s strange, standing there naked and sopping wet, as vulnerable as she could be, and yet he’s the one who looks exposed. He’s nervous about her. </p><p>Brushing water out of her eyes, she says, “I’m okay.” </p><p>“I’ll concede that you have remarkable lung capacity,” he mutters, sitting back onto the ottoman with a little grunt. Although he jumps to his feet again when he sees her sloshing to the edge of the pool. When he gives her his hand to hold as she steps over the lip of the tub, she takes it. </p><hr/><p>From her closet, she calls out to him as she picks something to wear. The warm, wood-paneled room is compact and warm, full of the smell of clean clothes and freshly waxed wood. Secretly, she loves it.</p><p>“How come you didn’t give me any shoes?” </p><p>From the bathroom, she can still hear him clearly. “I don’t expect you’ll be leaving the house all that much. Not at first, anyway.” </p><p>“What about slippers?” she says, picking out some loose pajama bottoms and a big fuzzy sweater.</p><p>Foregoing underwear, she pulls them both on as Ben says, “Slippers?”</p><p>“Yeah. My feet are cold. Socks are slippery. I might fall.”</p><p>He grunts. “Good point. I’ll have some brought over.”</p><p>“You won’t get them for me yourself?”</p><p>“I’m not planning on going far from home for the next… while.” </p><p>“Scared of an angry mob?” she says, trying for a joke. </p><p>There’s a sound of the ottoman moving as Ben stands sharply <em> up, </em>and Rey groans. Bad joke. Bad joke. From the doorway of the closet, she hears his voice. </p><p>“That’s another thing we need to talk about,” he says.</p><p>Turning, she tugs at the sleeves of her sweater and looks at him. He’s got a grim, serious expression on his face. </p><p>“I don’t think you understand the reality of the current world, Rey.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes. “I’d say I understand it better than you do.”</p><p>He dips his head. “In some ways. But you— you’re essentially famous. Even though no one has ever seen a photo of you, even though no one has heard you speak, people know your name. They know what happened here today.” </p><p>She stares at him blankly. Ever since she was a girl, she knew that people were interested in her. And in that vague way of childhood, she knew she wasn’t like other people. She felt like a splinter off of whatever normal was, and “normal” is Ben Solo.</p><p>Male. Tall. Powerful.</p><p>That was how it worked, she thought, but of course it can’t <em> all </em> be like that. Even driving here, she’d seen people who looked like ordinary workers. Men in blue jeans with little kids eating pizza. Like in the movies. </p><p>So now there is an additional class to which she does not belong. Another world she can’t enter. </p><p>“Ben?” </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“I want— I want to see Yellowstone. The one with the geysers and the big sky and those blue pools. I want to <em> see </em> them, Ben. Not in a book but really for real. Tell me the truth. Will I ever be able to?” </p><p>He hesitates. Rey turns her face away. </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>His voice is soft. Understanding. </p><p>“There are less than three hundred organic women left in the world. You’re…” He trails off, looking for the right word. “Precious.”</p><p>“I’m an exotic <em> pet,</em>” she murmurs, hating the way she can feel tears burning in her eyes. </p><p>“No,” he says, his voice heating. “You’re a person.”</p><p>Her voice is harsh. Angry. “What happens if I break your rules, Ben?” </p><p>He frowns, taking another step deeper into the room. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“If I do something that you think is bad for me, what happens? You said you wouldn’t hit me, but would you take my shoes away? Would you lock me in my room? Would you chase me down a hallway and hunt me through the house?”</p><p>His eyes narrow. “What would have been crueler, Rey? That, or imprisoning you for weeks on end? Lying to you for years, pretending that we lived in some world where you had choices, all to make you fall into some tormented version of love with me so I could sleep at night? I wouldn’t <em> do </em> that to you. I don’t want to pretend that this is some— some paternalistic situation where we both benefit. I won’t ask you to love me. I won’t try and <em> make </em> you. What option does that leave me?”</p><p>“What are you <em> talking </em> about?” </p><p>“My father—” and here he cuts off, turning his head sharply to look at the wall, like he can’t quite bring himself to say it. “He remembered how things were before. The Old Web was still up and there were still videos, that kind of thing. He didn’t know how to cope with it. He tried to act that we had a normal family. He made my mother <em> pretend.</em>” </p><p>Rey sits there, silent and stunned at the naked pain in Ben’s voice. </p><p>“He made her celebrate their anniversary<em>,</em>” Ben murmurs. “And I could see the look in her eyes when she told him she loved him. What that was… can’t be love, can it? It was… it was awful. I don’t want to do that to you.” </p><p>Silence. </p><p>Rey thinks about her own family. The mother she never knew. The father who died. The grandfather who arranged a marriage for her when she was hours old.  </p><p>“Is that… why you’re so angry at my grandfather?”</p><p>Ben blinks, coming back to the moment. “I might not be a good man, but I’m ... god, I would never make an arrangement to sell my child and then bring her up telling her that I loved her. I can’t think of anything worse than lying like that. God, your <em> face </em> on the dock. I felt homicidal.” </p><p>He leans heavily against the doorframe, his eyes haunted. </p><p>“So… our kids, if we have them. You won’t… love them?”</p><p>His eyes blaze. “I’ll love the hell out of them. And I won’t fucking <em> sell </em> them. I’ll protect them the same way I’ll protect you. I want to have the <em> right </em> to look them in the eyes and tell them I love them.”</p><p>“Even the girls?”</p><p>“Jesus, if we have girls, I’m going to have to build a bunker somewhere,” he mutters. Then laughs. “God, I’d lose my mind. But absolutely not, I wouldn’t sell them. I have enough on my conscience already. So, to answer your question, no, I don’t know if it’s safe to go to Yellowstone. I can promise you that I’ll look into it. I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen for you, but if I can’t do it in a way where you’re safe, I won’t do it.”</p><p>Rey looks at her feet, soft and sinking into the plush carpet. </p><p>“You know what I like about Yellowstone?” Rey murmurs.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The water in those geysers. It looks like it’s tropical, all blue and beachy. But if you tried to swim in it, you’d boil to death.”</p><p>He gives her a weak smile. “I appreciate the symmetry.” </p><p>She blows out a long breath, steels her courage, and crosses to him. It takes four strides exactly, and he looks <em> shocked </em> as she barrels into him. Speed wasn’t exactly the intention, but it’s the only way she can give herself the courage to wrap her arms around him and squeeze him as <em> hard as she can.  </em></p><p>He stands there, frozen to the spot, his breath a shallow rasp. </p><p>She turns her face up to look at him, trying to grip him so hard that it hurts as she says, “I don’t want to love you. I don’t want to live in a bunker. But if we can work together on this, I promise not to do anything that might accidentally get myself killed.”</p><p>Ben’s expression is reverent. Gently, he brings his arms around her, squeezing her a little, but not too much. </p><p>“Okay. I can work with that.”</p><p>“And I want some tea.”</p><p>“Okay, yes. I can do tea.”</p><p>“And I want a phone,” she says. “I want to talk to Rose.”</p><p>Ben buries his face in face in her hair, inhaling greedily. “Okay. Deal.” </p><p>And just like that, melted against the warmth of his body, calmer now that they seem to have come to an agreement, she relaxes her grip on him. </p><p><em> Anyway, </em> she thinks to herself. <em> He forgot about the ballet flats.  </em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>also hi there are like a lot more of you than i thought there would be. feeling a little daunted ngl. </p><p>for those asking, I have no intentions of ever coming off anon, sorry! thank you for being very nice. i think like a lot of you, I have really conflicted feelings about this story. I don't know how to own this part of myself but I would like to keep exploring it in a safe avenue. Writing it has been scary but good. I guess I'm relieved to have a place where I can explore this with fictional people and share it with people who can opt in and out at any point. </p><p>To the few of you asking to do translations, I'm super grateful but request that you don't. this story is enough craziness in one language, I'd rather not be worried about how it's tagged  (I have enough learning to do about that stuff on my own!) and interpreted in translation.</p><p>also thank you again to theriseofswolo on twitter for this incredible art of <a href="https://twitter.com/theriseofswolo/status/1260050157355188224">rey and ben in the kitchen.</a> It's amazing (and NSFW so heads up!) and I yelled *extremely loudly* when I found it. Thank you so so so much. I appreciate you putting the link in the comments so I could see it!</p><p>also editing to add that <a href="https://twitter.com/jeenonamit/status/1260014873003520001"> 
this work by Jeeno made me weep openly </a></p><p>i have twitter so if you talk about the fic there using the full name of the story I can maybe see it! even if I don't engage with it :) thanks for being so nice all of y'all</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there is a very brief mention of cancer in this chapter (nobody has it, nothing is described about it, it's brought up only in conjunction with other routine medical screenings), but I wanted to give you a heads up!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>9.</b>
</p><p>The moment breaks. Rey pulls away from him, stepping out of his grasp. He watches her with interest, like she’s a fascinating study he’s observing in the wild, and it makes her feel small and … seen, in a way that isn’t entirely pleasant. </p><p>“I want to see the rest of the house,” Rey says.</p><p>His expression cools a little, some of the intensity leaving his gaze, and he looks a little more like the man in the kitchen than before.</p><p>“No, I think we’ve had enough running around the house for one night, don’t you?” And then he takes a step forward, advancing a little so she’s backing up deeper into that quiet, small closet space. He lowers his voice. “I think you need rest.”</p><p>“Why are you always trying to get me to <em> rest? </em>” Rey whispers, going for a joke. It doesn’t land. </p><p>“Because I like the look of you on your back.”</p><p>He is not joking. Does he mean to take her right here? How often do people <em> have </em> sex? There wasn’t a standard metric anyone ever gave her, just that it’s a natural process and that frequency certainly doesn’t hurt.</p><p>But it sort of feels like it <em> might</em>. She’s still sensitive.  </p><p>“Tea,” she blurts. “You said— you said you’d get me tea.”</p><p>Ben blinks, exhales, and then gives her a little smile. “So I did, clever thing. So I did. Come.”</p><p>He turns, padding from the room with his hands in his pockets, casual as anything. Rey stands there for one second, centering herself, grabbing her whistle for comfort.</p><p>“Don’t dawdle, pretty girl,” he calls back, his voice distant. She hears the sound of the door opening. </p><p>On numb feet, she stumbles out after him. He’s already filling an electric kettle by the time she gets to the kitchen, deftly maneuvering the task of boiling water, getting mugs, selecting tea bags. For a man as large as him, it’s sort of amazing to see how agile he is. </p><p>Immediately after the scale of the first genetic anomaly had become apparent, there had been an immediate and permanent banning on the genetic modification of women. But it wasn’t until two generations <em> after </em> the first disastrous round of genetic changes that the true effects became apparent. At that point, the alterations— seemingly harmless reductions in genetic risk factors for common diseases, cancers, that kind of thing— had already been widely adopted. The generational compounding of fertility issues had been immediate and permanent. </p><p>The slim minority of women whose grandmothers hadn’t opted for the genetic population— the so-called “organics” with untouched eggs— were suddenly the most valuable assets on earth, reproductively speaking. </p><p>All that has led here, to Rey sitting herself gingerly down on a barstool at the kitchen island, watching her perfect stranger of a husband calmly brew her a mug of tea. </p><p>“It’s mint,” he says calmly. “They said it was your favorite.”</p><p>Ben hands her the mug, and she tries not to look morose as she thinks about Mitaka. About the groundskeeper's bounding dog. About all the ferns she never got to sketch. Still, the tea is good, even though it's probably more energizing than she would have picked for herself at this hour.</p><p>He watches her drink with totally unsuppressed satisfaction. </p><p>“Good,” he says. </p><p>She arches a brow. “That’s all it takes to please you? Eat and drink?” </p><p>“What do you think?” </p><p>He says this with such calm, gentle curiosity that it immediately makes her feel fidgety. Is this a test, or is he genuinely curious? </p><p>She sets the mug down. “I think it will take more than tea.”</p><p>His nod is thoughtful, but slow. “Just do your best. Amuse yourself. Do what I ask. We’ll get along fine.” </p><p>Rey picks the mug back up. He makes it all sound very simple, and maybe it will be. After all, isn’t that what she’s supposed to have? A simple life. A reduced scope of options. </p><p>“I suppose I should be the one making you tea,” she sighs, looking down at her mug. What if he thinks she’s no good at this? What if this was a test and she failed it? </p><p>He chuckles. “Boy, they hit you with that doctrine stuff pretty hard, didn’t they? I remember the unit in women’s studies we did in middle school. The teacher did an overview of the coursework taught to organics, and I remember how old-fashioned it all seemed. All that stuff about pre-natal vitamins and yoga.”</p><p>The idea of Ben Solo sitting in a classroom somewhere reading the same government papers she’d read, seeing scans from her very textbook, makes her feel sort of unsteady. They read the same thing, but how <em>different</em> it must have been for him. Vitamins must seem like a hilarious relic to a man whose body has been altered to be super-efficient at nutrient absorption. </p><p>But the whole <em>point</em> of her is that she doesn't have those advantages. Her body is still hilariously inefficient, still stiff and awkward. Ben can't understand that she has had to live in a world built for people who are larger, stronger, and fitter than she is. </p><p>“Maybe the tea party stuff is out of date,” she concedes, looking down at her mug. “But the rest of it… has been pretty accurate, in my experience.”</p><p>Ben’s chuckle fades. </p><p>The sound of knocking at the door shatters the reflective mood in the kitchen. She nearly drops the mug of tea, but catches it at the last possible minute, splashing hot water on her finger tips.</p><p>She hisses. Ben is on high alert, already crossing around the island, barking, “Go back to the room. Lock the door.”</p><p>“I don’t know <em> how </em> to lock the door,” she protests. </p><p>“It’s set to your fingerprint,” he says distractedly, pulling the mug from her hands, pushing her down the hallway.</p><p>“Really?” Rey hears herself say, stunned. The whole time? </p><p>He just liked hearing her beg, the asshole.</p><p>“Yes, <em> go, </em>” he says, already striding for the door. </p><p>“Ben,” she hisses. “What if it’s dangerous?” </p><p>He stops, turning back to look at her with such a look of condescending pity on his face that she wishes she still had the mug so she could throw tea right in his face.</p><p>“Sweetheart. If someone got past the gate, it’s someone I know. I’ll deal with it. Just go to your room. Wait for me there.”</p><p>The banging on the door keeps coming, irregular and loud, but Ben doesn’t budge until he sees her start moving down the hallway, resistant and annoyed. </p><p>She gets halfway down then stops, holding very still as she listens to the sound of Ben walking to the door. Opening it. There’s muffled male voices speaking to each other, and the noise echoes down the hallway to her, watery and out of focus as she holds very still. </p><p>From what she can hear, it's a muted argument. As carefully as she can, she pads back down the hallway, back towards the kitchen and the foyer. </p><p>“Poe, calm the fuck down or I’ll call someone. You can’t be here. You remember how the first days were for—”</p><p>“Don’t. Don’t say her name. Just let me see yours.”</p><p>“Absolutely fucking not, you’re drunk off your ass, Dameron. She’s <em> asleep. </em> I don’t want her to—”</p><p> Poe inhales deeply and <em> yells. </em>“Rey! Rey Solo! Come out, little seabird! Come out you- you—” </p><p>There’s the sound of a muffled confrontation, grunts and stifled shouts. </p><p>
  <em> What the hell? </em>
</p><p>Peeking her head just a fraction around the corner, she catches sight of Ben wrestling the other man, who is half yelling, half crying, stumbling to get further than a few steps into the massive foyer. Immediately, she pulls her head back, flattening herself against the wall as the sight of yet another stranger insisting on his right to see her sets her heart racing. </p><p>She’s curious, but not stupid. </p><p>“Poe, this isn’t <em> you, </em>” Ben snarls. “You’re drunk.”</p><p>“How come— how come she’s <em> gone, </em>” the other man says, the fight abruptly leaving him. He sags against Ben. “Kaydel. I miss her.” </p><p>Ben’s grip on Poe loosens, the motion turning into a hug, propping the other man up. She hears Mitaka’s voice from what seems like a lifetime ago. </p><p>
  <em> That unfortunate incident at the Dameron Estate.  </em>
</p><p>Poe is sobbing. “<em>Kaydel. </em>”</p><p>Ben’s voice is low and gruff, nothing like the soothing voice he uses on her, but gentle all the same. “It’s only been a month. There’s still hope.”</p><p>“I’m going to—” Poe says, hiccuping on his words. “I’m going to kill them. Whatever settlement it is. They fucking— they took her, and I’m going to get her back.” </p><p>“Okay, buddy. Okay,” Ben says. “Come on. I’m calling you a car.”</p><p>“Just let me <em> see </em> yours,” Poe pleads, his voice pathetically dejected.</p><p>“You know I’m not going to do that. You’re out of your mind, and you scared the <em> shit </em> out of Rose—”</p><p>Poe sobs. “There’s no— there’s no going back, there’s no way to replace her— I lost her—” </p><p>“I know, Poe.”</p><p>“The boys won’t stop crying— I’m losing my mind—”</p><p>“I know, buddy.” </p><p>“Just let me— let me smell her hair.”</p><p>“Look, just— Poe, damnit,” Ben barks. Then there's the sound of a scuffle, and a thud. Too curious to resist, she sticks her head out again and sees Ben physically tackling Poe to the ground, pinning him, grunting something she can’t understand.</p><p>Finally they both go still as Poe just lays there, giving up the fight, and Ben releases his friend, sighing as they both just sit there on the ground, looking at each other warily. </p><p>Poe sits up, unsteady. His face is flushed. “I can’t keep living like this.” </p><p>Ben puts a hand on Poe’s shoulder. “I know. Bring the boys by sometime. I’ll take them out on the dirt bikes. They liked that, last time. It helped.”</p><p>“I’m going out of town,” he says hollowly. “The Dakotas. They think she might’ve been moved. The oilfields, you know.”</p><p>Ben sounds horrified. “<em>Poe</em>. You can’t take risks like that. The mining colonies are fucking dangerous. You have a team for this. Let them do their job.”</p><p>“Can’t let it rest. I was the one who failed her, I was— it was my responsibility, Ben.” </p><p>“Don’t start this again. You were doing so well. It wasn’t your fault. Hell, she was the one who trusted that gardener—”</p><p>“When I find her,” Poe says, his voice surging in intensity. “It’s going to be different. Safer. This isn’t going to <em> happen </em> again. I’ll take a page out of your book. Move further out. Bigger walls. Less staff.”</p><p>“Poe, calm down,” Ben says. </p><p>“No, this is important, this— you need to hear this because you still have yours, nothing has happened—” </p><p>“I’m calling your dad,” Ben sighs. “You shouldn’t be—”</p><p>“Don’t—” </p><p>Poe Dameron gets abruptly to his feet, his voice so loud that it makes her jump. Her hand jerks. The sound of a whistle clattering lightly on a metal chain. </p><p>Everything goes very still. She doesn’t move. Frozen to the spot as Poe turns around, looking at her with watery, red-rimmed eyes. They look at each other, and across the distance between the two of them a look of such raw grief passes that she’s almost knocked over by the force of it.</p><p>He is suffering. She’s never seen heartbreak in the flesh before, but it’s strange how she can immediately recognize it. A shiver runs down her back. </p><p>“Oh,” Poe whispers. “Oh god, I’m sor—”   </p><p>Poe opens his mouth to say something else but it’s at that point that Ben yanks Poe back around and punches him in the gut. </p><p>Rey brings a hand to her mouth, watching as Ben gives his friend another blow. She’s never seen violence like this person. Fighting is a common enough way to resolve conflict among men, but it’s not something she was ever allowed to be around. Too much bloodlust.</p><p>But Ben doesn’t appear to care that she’s watching him fistfight his drunk friend on the floor of their living room, so she just stands there as they scuffle, grunting and shifting over a conflict she doesn’t even understand.</p><p>She doesn’t know what Poe is going through. It might be that he and Kaydel were deeply in love, happily married. Or maybe he's grieving the loss of control he thought he had over an asset. He could fall at any point in the spectrum of emotions that seem to be possible in this sort of relationship, but whoever he is, he is hurting, and she doesn't get the sense that Poe has any ill intent toward her. </p><p>Maybe that's naive. But Rey's no stranger to the effect she has on men even when they just <em>look</em> at her. Everyone stares, the first time. They all think of old photos of their great grandmothers, they're all drawn in some elemental way to approach. About a third of them bust into tears. Just the <em>sight</em> of her has an immense power over men. If she can use it now to help this selfish, sobbing stranger, she wants to. Even if it's only because she has nothing better to do with her time at the moment. </p><p>“Ben,” she says, taking a few steps closer. Her voice is hoarse. He doesn’t hear her. Louder this time, “Ben. Stop.”</p><p>He looks up, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. </p><p>Poe groans, coughing. </p><p>Part of her knows that coming here, bringing his grief over losing his wife to <em> her, </em> a woman who recently underwent the most searing day of her life, is an act of unforgivable selfishness.</p><p>What comfort can she offer him? Why would he <em> ask </em> her to do that? </p><p>Even so, she pities him. She can’t help it. He’s pathetic. A man who has lost what he has made a huge part of his identity; the ability to protect, provide, shelter, care, dominate. All <em>that</em> rested on the shoulders of a woman who is apparently gone, and he is thrown utterly out of balance. </p><p>Ben grunts. “Rey. Go back to your room. Right now.”</p><p>Her hands flutter at her side. “Let— let me make him some tea.”</p><p>Then Poe turns and looks at her, too, groaning again, as if <em> she’d </em> struck him.</p><p>Ben’s expression is unsteady. On the one hand, he’d told her to go back to her room. She’s disobeying him. And maybe he thinks that being around Poe counts as endangering herself. But on the other hand, Poe didn’t seem dangerous, just desperate. </p><p>She gives him a pleading expression. “Tea is <em>in </em> the textbook.” </p><p>And then, with a grudging nod, Ben says, “Fine. One mug. And you’re a lucky bastard, Poe.” </p><p>Wordlessly, she turns around and walks to the kitchen, setting up the kettle, opening cupboards at random until she finds boxes of tea and mugs. In the living room, she can hear Ben speaking to Poe in low, heated tones. As the water starts to boil, they both come in. </p><p>The effect of two of them at once is… a lot. Poe is shorter than Ben, but not by much, and he has the same direct gaze, the same unflinching expression. Except, where Ben has an odd look in his eyes as he looks at her, Poe looks abjectly miserable. </p><p>He sits on a barstool at the island, watching her set up the cups and the tea bags with an expression she can’t quite place. When she pours the water into the mugs and pushes one across the island in Poe’s direction, she finally puts a name to the look in Ben’s eyes.</p><p>
  <em> He’s pleased with her.  </em>
</p><p>How must she look to him? A nurturing woman, taking care of a hurting man. In a way, even in defying him, she's still doing what he wants. Pushing that thought out of her mind, she pushes a mug to Ben. He brushes his fingers across hers as he takes it, giving her a look that she can only describe as smoldering.</p><p>Poe picks a teabag without appearing to even look at it, putting it in his water and staring off miserably into the middle distance.</p><p>“Nice to meet you, Rey,” he finally says. “I’m Poe Dameron.”</p><p>She delicately picks her own mug back up from where she’d abandoned it. “I got that, yes. Pleasure to meet you.”</p><p>Ben has his phone out, texting someone. A driver, if she had to guess. Poe sighs, staring down at his mug and appearing to steel himself for something. Finally, he sighs and meets Rey’s gaze for the first time. </p><p>“Fuck, I’m— jesus, <em> ow, </em> ” he snarls, cutting off as Ben punches him in the arm and snarls, “Watch your <em> language </em> around my <em> wife </em>.”</p><p>Poe holds up one hand as in surrender. “Sorry. Yeah, anyway, <em> sorry. </em>I’m… I’ve been drinking and I… I’m not really myself. We — Kaydel and I— we were going to throw this party for you, you know. When we heard you’d be coming home. We had all these plans. I hadn’t been able to… to bring myself to cancel the catering, the flowers, all that. Today I finally did. Between that and the news coverage— I’m… not usually like this.”</p><p>“Oh,” Rey says, at a loss for words. </p><p>Ben gives his friend a hard look. “And he’s very <em> sorry</em>, I’m sure, for showing up at our home uninvited, drunk as a lord and embarrassing himself in front of my new wife.” </p><p>Poe leans his head on the counter, eyes swimming. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Rose talking to you again?” Ben says quietly. </p><p>“Barely. Mostly for the boys, I think.”</p><p>“You’re lucky she didn’t tell Hux.” </p><p>“I just— I just wanted a <em> hug, </em>” Poe moans. “I didn’t think she would get so freaked out.”</p><p>“You know she’s not allowed to touch other men,” Ben snarls. “Hux is touchy enough right now. You shouldn’t have tried it.”</p><p>“I’ll hug you,” Rey hears herself say. It’s just an impulse. She remembers how much she valued the occasional hug from her own grandfather, or how the little boys who came to the island for a visit would love to reach their arms out and be picked up, swung around and cuddled. Poe looks… one hundred percent more pathetic than a six-year-old with a skinned knee. </p><p>Ben’s expression is <em> glacial </em>as he stares at her. “No, she won’t, because she has done quite enough for one night, and needs to go rest.” </p><p>Poe’s eyes are drifting closed. “Yeah. Sorry, Ben.”</p><p>“Sorry <em> Ben </em>?” Rey snaps, immediately glad she hadn’t hugged him.  </p><p>Ben grabs Poe by the back of his jacket, setting him on his feet and giving him a rough shove in the direction of the door. “Okay, Dameron. Your ride should be here any minute. We’re going to <em> sit </em> on the stoop and wait for it.”</p><p>“But—” Rey says, wishing she could ask Poe questions about Kaydel. Where did she come from? How did they meet? Will she be returned safely? <em> How did she get out? </em> </p><p>“Rey,” Ben barks, “Go to your room.”</p><p>She sets her jaw, but he just stands there, watching as Poe walks unsteadily towards the door, looking back at Rey with an expression of intense, fervent <em> something </em> on his face. It makes her feel so strange. </p><p>“Rey. Look at <em> me </em>,” he says, his voice low. She does. “Do you need me to ask you again?”</p><p>Even though his voice is calm enough, she can see now how edgy he is. She gives him a mutinous look, but walks slowly around the island towards the hallway back to the bedroom. Before she can, he reaches out and grabs her arm, yanking her back, tugging her against him. </p><p>It’s a rough, greedy kiss that he presses into her. Possessive, his head bending hers back, his tongue into her mouth, his fingers running up the length of her body. Rey blinks, her hands going to his upper arms, dazed at this new onslaught of sensation. </p><p>He pulls away just enough to move his lips against hers, low enough that only she can hear him. “New rule. Starting now. Nobody else gets to touch you. Do you understand?” </p><p>She doesn’t, not really, except for in the one way that he seems to care about. </p><p>“I understand,” she whispers. </p><p>“Good. Go wait for me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>really unclear to me how many chapters this will be? i know how it ends but there may be a secondary plot i jump into? just want to give you a heads up that this might get a bit longer depending on how the vibe goes! </p><p>also thank you very much for the kind words on the last chapter. i got a lot of encouraging comments about the nature of dark fic in general which was really interesting. it made me think that like, okay, maybe i can write more of this stuff if I do it well and safely etc. I am also conscious of the dark fic veterans in my comments who are like "honey be calm you're fine this is normal" in the LITERAL NICEST way possible. </p><p>you're the best.</p><p> </p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/theislandeffect">I made a twitter for this</a> if you would like a place to be kept up to date on updates! I know sometimes anon fic emails are unreliable.</p><p>if you are having a good time i appreciate a kudos or a comment :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>~mind the taaaags~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>10.</strong>
</p><p>“What was <em> that,</em>” he snaps, opening the door to her room with no little gentleness. </p><p>Rey, perched at the edge of her bed with her feet planted firmly on the ground, only crosses her arms. “I wanted to help. Don’t you want me to be nurturing.”</p><p>“Not like <em> that.</em>”</p><p>He looks a little wild, and the overreaction of the whole thing strikes her as odd. Ben is intense. Ben is controlling. But he has proven to be at least reasonable. Or what counts for reasonable, in these parts.</p><p>“Why are you so upset?” she says. </p><p>Rather than calming him down, this only seems to make it worse. His eyes blaze. He takes two steps forward. “Do you want to know what happened to Kaydel?”</p><p>He seems to expect an answer. </p><p>“Yes,” she says, only half-sure that she actually does.</p><p>“Kaydel developed feelings for one of the gardeners,” Ben says. “Poe’s too much in grief to admit it, but we all know that’s what happened.”</p><p>“Did… did she run? Did she make it?” </p><p>A vision of Kaydel, whoever she is, someplace safe, tucked away with someone kind, someone who she <em> chose </em> is so intoxicating that for a minute her eyes swim. What would that even be like? </p><p>Ben’s voice is harsh. “He lured her into a back corner of a garden and abducted her. There’s video footage of the whole thing, Rey.” </p><p>“That’s… awful,” she says, unable to fathom that level of betrayal.</p><p>“Poe is out of his mind about it. He’s desperate. So when I say that I expect you not to do things that put you in harm’s way—” </p><p>That strikes her as hugely unfair, and she straightens, glowering up at him. </p><p>“If your <em> friend </em> is so dangerous to me, then why would you let him into our house?” </p><p>His nostrils flare, and Rey knows she’s pushing this way, way too far. But something about it, the night and the day and the awful horror of it all just makes her want to spit something out. Get even. Get under his skin. </p><p>He sets his jaw, and his voice has that deadly gentleness in it again, which is totally at odds with the look in his eyes. “I can see that we're not understanding each other, are we?”</p><p>Rey gets to her feet, clenching her fists. “We understand each other just fine. You expect me to fulfill a role but only when it’s convenient for <em> you—”  </em></p><p>Ben crosses to her in two strides, so fast that she doesn’t even have time to think about running, and then he’s got her, scooping her up in his arms and tossing her over one shoulder with a grumbled, “We’re going to go and sort this out<em>.</em>” </p><p>She <em> yells. </em> Yells as loud as she possibly can as he opens the door to her room, carries her out of it, down that long hallway, through that bright, Rey-sized kitchen, through the plush living room where he’d wrestled his friend onto the ground, and down a different hallway. This one shorter, with fewer doors.</p><p>All this while, she yells at him, calls him every name she can think of as he resolutely ignores her, holding her steady as she yells into the sight of his backside, her hands hitting him uselessly as he hauls her upside down through the house.</p><p>“Be calm,” he says, dismissive, annoyed. </p><p>She slaps any part of him she can reach, hollering with absolutely zero dignity, “If you even think about telling me that <em> it’s not good for me to be distressed—”  </em></p><p>The sound of a door unlocking cuts her off, and then they’re striding into a different bedroom. He throws her onto the bed, surveying her idly as she frantically looks around. This room is darker, with blue curtains and a blue bed and the same fireplace and plush carpet. Masculine. It’s the male counterpart to her room, she realizes. </p><p>“Is this your room?” she says, scrabbling back across the bedspread as he casually starts loosening his tie. </p><p>“Very good, pretty girl,” he says, giving her a smile that makes her anger rachet up even higher. And then he turns to the door and locks it. She has a sinking feeling that <em> this </em> one she won’t be able to open.</p><p>“I want to sleep in my room,” she insists, her mouth going dry as he unbuttons his shirt. He wears an undershirt, and the sight of him undressed like this is so casual, so like the workmen on the island, that for a minute she’s distracted. He’s broad. Built in the way that a gym can build a man. Like a science project.</p><p>Some part of her brain delights in it. Every piece of rhetoric she's ever swallowed comes surging back to her. <em>Strong, safe, big, broad, careful, gentle, firm</em>—</p><p>“It was unfortunate that Poe showed up,” he says, sighing as he undoes the last button. “I didn’t mean to introduce that level of chaos so quickly. I should have revoked his access. I’m sorry.” </p><p>Rey watches with detached fascination as his hands go to his belt. He undoes it with a gentle snap of leather on metal that makes her push herself back against the pillow. His eyes pin hers. </p><p>“Do you forgive me?” he asks her. Very calm. Like he’s interested in the answer. </p><p>“I don’t want him to come back,” she whispers.</p><p>He nods his head, setting the belt down. “Alright. I won’t let him.”</p><p>“Not until I invite him,” she whispers.</p><p>“Of course. Not till you say.”</p><p>He repeats it to her very slowly, very carefully. But even with that, she can still feel the intensity radiating off him. </p><p>“Then I forgive you.” </p><p>“Good, I think we’ve resolved that matter, then,” he says, dipping his head. “But we seem to be miscommunicating on the subject of following orders. I think it would be best if we resolved this right now. You're headstrong. I can appreciate that. But when it comes to a matter of your safety, I need you to understand life-saving commands. That's our first order of business.” </p><p>He takes a casual step forward, and she twitches back away from him. When he speaks again, his voice is so low and quiet that it reminds her of deep space, black and huge and hungry. </p><p>“Give me the bracelet, Rey.” </p><p>Her fingers go to the bracelet instinctively, the little metal clatter as familiar to her as her own heartbeat now. </p><p>“No,” she whispers. </p><p>His eyes narrow. “You don’t need it here. It endangered you today. I don’t want some gruesome legacy on your wrist at all times.”</p><p>“What if I need it?”</p><p>“For what?” he says, eyes narrowing. </p><p>“What if your <em> friend </em> comes back? What if I’m in trouble,” she whispers, riveted by the lines of extreme tension in his body, the aggressively regulated tone of his voice, the way he’s pacing towards her. </p><p>“You’re in trouble right now,” he whispers, his eyes slipping to her feet, up her leg. “What could that do to help you?”</p><p>Rey watches all of this with the detached air of a person about to be dropped from a great height. The sense of him is overpowering even when he’s not drawing closer to her like this. </p><p>“All the more reason to keep it,” she hears herself say. God, is she <em> insane </em>? Why would she goad him like this? Her plan was to get along, to do what was expected of her, to do her best to carve out the best life she could.</p><p>Defying Ben Solo isn’t any of that.</p><p>But god. It feels <em> good. </em>It feels electric. If they’re going to have a proxy war over shoes, over jewelry, over mugs of tea, then they will. This is a place she can argue, a territory she can fight for with the weapons she has. </p><p>“I think you are trying to test me,” he murmurs, reaching the edge of the bed and fisting his hands into the material, leaning forward. She shakes her head, but he only smiles. “Checking to see if I meant what I said.”</p><p>With a jerk of his hand he reaches out and grabs her foot, yanking on it so that the slim space between them evaporates as he tugs her to the edge of the bed. </p><p>“What a <em>good</em> question, pretty girl,” he says, ignoring her as she claws at the bedding. “How smart you are. Why don't you come over here and get the answer to your question?"</p><p>She reaches out and kicks at him with her free foot, but she might as well not have moved. He just ignores the blow, pulling her towards him inch by inch.</p><p>“Would you like to have an argument about this?” he whispers. “Because I’ll win it, Rey. You can rely on me, for that.”</p><p>He pulls her foot up, kissing her ankle, her calf, up and up as she lays there, dazed at this new thing she has wrought. His voice is relentless. It seems to be his weapon of choice, making her feel spasms of pleasure at the same time as he shoves mouthfuls of honey-sweet dominance down her throat, forcing her to swallow it all down. And she <em>will</em> swallow it. Even now she can feel herself reacting.</p><p>He says, “Could you take me again so soon? Is that little whistle worth that to you?” </p><p>He looks at her from up the length of her body, the soft pajamas pushed up, his mouth on her skin with inexorable softness, a kind of keen, stabbing desire prickling under her skin. </p><p>She <em> could </em> take him again. The flush at her cheeks goes all the way down, and even if she’s sore, it’s not so sore that she wouldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t try. She sits up, giving up the struggle to reclaim her foot but giving herself the dignity of a 90 degree angle as she stares him down, propped up on her elbows. </p><p>“Take me again, if you want to,” she whispers. “But I won’t give it up.” </p><p>He frowns at her, his gentle kisses slowing just south of her knee. </p><p>“What could I offer my little wife to get her to part with that trinket? Not jewelry, I don’t think. Not gold. What about some sandals? Would that tempt you? I’d give up the sight of you barefoot in my house for that.”</p><p>She just shakes her head as his kisses start to travel, and he bends now, stooping to reach her thigh, his mouth mumbling into her as his free hand pushes her back down, so she’s laying on her back.</p><p>The ceiling seems very far away from her as his kisses send little shuddery pinpricks of desire through her body. Into the cavernous space above her head, she murmurs, “Mine means <em> mine.</em>”</p><p>He should understand that.</p><p>He grunts, like he does. </p><p>It’s partly the touch that feels good, partly the rumbly lowness of his voice, and partly the feeling that they are <em> communicating. </em>They are engaged in an ancient and powerful kind of struggle, bartering for raw metal and bodies and— </p><p>“Fine, then” he whispers, and she hears the sound of his zipper coming undone. </p><p>Just to piss him off, she pushes her own damn pajama bottoms down, staring up at him, lifting her head even though he pushed her down, daring him with her eyes as she sees him take his cock out. </p><p>He palms it luxuriously, looking down at her on his bed, her pants halfway off, her cheeks flushed, her hair fucked up, and the little metal whistle bit between her clenched teeth.</p><p>His nostrils flare. “Fine. <em> Fine.</em>” </p><p>But he doesn’t look thrilled. He wanted her to give up the bracelet, to hand it over with her head bowed in submission. He was counting on <em> that</em>, and now he has to follow through with his threat or look like he won’t uphold discipline. Her lips twitch. <em> She won.  </em></p><p>And that thought? That thought is more of a turn on than those toe-curling thigh kisses, than staring at his ass as he dragged her back to his cave, better than the sight of his broad shoulders as he undid his tie. </p><p>He pulls her pajamas off with nothing like his usual carefulness, tugging them down, and she points her toes in decadent mockery. Grunting, he flips her over onto her front so her face is suddenly pressed into the downy comforter as he pushes her forward onto the bed again as he climbs up after her.</p><p>He bends his head and she yelps as she feels him at her entrance with his damn <em> mouth </em> again, kissing her there, his tongue probing, his fingers digging into her skin as he groans. She thinks he might be talking, but she can’t hear him over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears.</p><p>She kicks her feet as the pleasure starts again, little thumping noises on the mattress next to his head as he makes her twitch and jerk, oversensitive nerves thrumming in the onslaught. Her fingers grip the comforter in front of her, the moonlight catching on the silver.</p><p><em>“Mine,”</em> she hears herself whisper. </p><p>Ben hears that, because she feels him lift his head. Desperate to look into his eyes, she starts to turn over, but he pushes her back down. His weight comes down on top of her, and he pushes her legs apart with his knee. </p><p>“Open your legs for me,” he murmurs into her, kissing her lower back as she obeys him.</p><p>Then, with a brief, blunt push, she feels him enter her. He groans at the friction, leaning on top of her, his body pressing hers into the mattress, flattening her under the weight of him. </p><p>It feels like her body is a string instrument, something taut and straining, yearning for something even as it is stretched to its limit. </p><p>“There you go,” he whispers, his voice strained as he pushes into her. “We’ll go slow.”</p><p>Her foot thumps on the mattress again as he pushes deeper. It feels different like this, their bodies pressed together, his arms bare, her face pressed into the soft downy blanket. There’s almost nothing she can see that isn’t his arms caging her head in, his blanket surging into her face. </p><p>There is the push of his hardness inside her, his hot breath, his kisses on her neck as he seats himself inside her with a groan of pleasure. </p><p>“You want to keep the bracelet? Alright, sweet thing, I won’t take it from you,” he grunts. “But I will have <em> everything </em> else.”</p><p>Everything in her clenches at the raw need in his voice. She kicks her legs, squirming, but he holds onto her as she grits her teeth. In response, he just picks up the pace. She whimpers as he picks up the tempo and she stretches around him, flexing her hips, clamping down on him.</p><p>Ben kisses her ears. “We can fight over trifles for as long as it takes you to accept it.” </p><p>And then, he lifts himself off her, still pressed all the way inside her, still breathing hard as he tugs at her hips, lifting her up until her hips are in the air and her face is pressed into the mattress and he sinks home again with a grunt of feral pleasure.</p><p>The depth he reaches like this is different, and she moans around the feeling of him touching some new part of her. It’s not that it’s deeper, it’s just that it’s <em> more.  </em></p><p>“Put that pretty whistle in your mouth,” he rasps. “I want to hear you blow it as I fuck you. I want to hear you.”</p><p>“Bite me,” she whispers, arching her back, pushing against him, trying to get him to push at that spot again. </p><p>He smacks her ass so hard she yelps and jerks forward, but he’s not having that, and grips her by the hips and pulls her back <em> hard </em> against him. This is both deep and so much that she cries out around it, bringing her hand to her face to bite down into the soft part of her palm.</p><p>He pulls all the way out. </p><p>“Test the limits all you like,” he rasps. “I’m happy to remind you of them. Now put that <em> fucking </em> whistle in your mouth, little thing.” </p><p>“Ben,” she whines. </p><p>He doesn’t move. “Do you want to keep it? Then work for it.” </p><p>Groaning, she shifts her head, bringing the bracelet to her lips. </p><p>“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice ragged with triumph. “Let me hear you.”</p><p>She puts the whistle in her mouth. It’s cold against her tongue, and when he pushes back into her all at once, the sound of her own gasping breath makes the whistle make a pitiful little noise. And then he does it again and again, slamming into her, moaning as the whistle makes tinny, surrendering noises.</p><p>“There she is,” he croons, his voice unsteady now. “There’s my good girl. You can learn, can’t you?”</p><p>He bends back down, fucking into her as his body closes over hers, and he makes low grunting noises, biting her shoulder, sucking on her neck as her stuttering breaths fill the room with a silvery, longing sound.</p><p>The whistle falls loose around a moan, and he makes a disapproving noise. “Poor thing. Can’t even hold your mouth shut, can you? Here,” he murmurs, bringing one hand in front of her, his forearm against her throat as he reaches up and pushes the whistle back into her mouth, holding her jaw as he fucks slowly, relentlessly into her. “I’ll help you.”</p><p>She bites down on a moan that might be a sob, and the noise is a whistled tune through her clenched teeth as she kicks her feet, eyes pricking against the white hot anger of the awful pleasure she’s drowning in.</p><p>His thrusts harder, faster, moaning, “Look at you, look at you, <em> god, </em> did you think I would let you— did you think I would let you hide from me? Hm?” </p><p>She shakes her head, because no, she did not think he would let her do that. </p><p>He’s close, and she’s close, and how can she forgive him for that? For the way that even now, she has a sense of him above her, the way his pleasure makes <em> her </em> feel good, the way her own pleasure is keen and sharp and all the stronger because this makes sense to her? </p><p>“I’ll show you, sweetheart,” he moans. “I’ll teach you.”</p><p>The faint whistling sound of her cry of pleasure nearly undoes her. She lets go. Breathes hard, whines, pants, writhes underneath him. She lifts her hips, pushes back, so desperate to get this awful, tormented delight as close and as deep inside her as she can that she would give anything up.</p><p>He senses her surrender. Or at least, he <em> must</em>, because he says, “I’m going to let go of your jaw, and the only thing you’re going to say to me is <em> thank you</em>, hm? Aren’t you?”</p><p>She nods, gone, dazed, and he presses hot kisses against her neck as his fingers come unclenched around her jaw and the whistle falls from her lips. The moan that she releases as her orgasm surges towards her is devastating in its inevitability, shameful in the way that it makes him grunt and thrust in pleasure with a coaxing, “Good girl, <em> good girl.”  </em></p><p>“Thank you, thank you,” she whimpers, her moan loosening her cramped jaw, the raw throatiness of her own voice so different than the tinny whisper of the whistle, and yet no less plaintive, no less pleading.</p><p>“That's right,” he groans loud and long, buried inside her his own orgasm undoes him. Unsteadily, he kisses her up and down her back, thrusting once more inside her as he twitches and fills her.</p><p>“That’s it,” he groans, hazy, drowsy. She nods her head, her head a little empty, her hand clenched so tight around the whistle that her fingers ache. </p><p>He pulls out of her, kissing down her back, lifting her up, flipping her over so she’s looking up at the ceiling again, winded and dazed. The sense of satisfaction, that she has succeeded in keeping this object, is still there. But it’s muffled under a buried, sleepy feeling. </p><p>This gets worse as he brushes her hair back, pulls her gingerly up the bed, hauls her into his arms, pulls the blanket up around them. His body is a punctuation mark at the edge of her as he brings his face to rest in the crook of her neck. </p><p>He kisses her, gently, sleepily. “Time and practice,” he sighs. "That's what we need."  </p><p>She can only nod, his smell overpowering everything else, his skin the only warmth she can touch, his room the only place she can be. She grips the metal of her bracelet, closes her eyes, and tries her hardest not to think about the feeling of safety flooding her nervous system, the way her orgasm had tasted like salt water, the way already the smell of him is familiar and comforting. </p><p>"Again and again," she whispers. </p><p>"That's right," he praises her. "Tomorrow, we'll start fresh, hm? No interruptions. I'll show you the gardens. You'll like it. I'll make sure you like it."</p><p>"Can we go to the ocean?" she murmurs. </p><p>He shifts, pulling her closer. "Not tomorrow. No." </p><p>"Soon?"</p><p>He kisses her cheek. "Given how well you did tonight, sweetheart, I don't expect it will be long at all now." </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a href="https://twitter.com/theislandeffect">I have a twitter!</a> I know anon updates can be unreliable so I've been wanting to make a twitter to help. </p><p> </p><p>thank you for 20k hits??? holy shit?????????????</p><p>thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/curiousniffin/status/1262239889208246273">Niffin for this beautiful moodboard!!!</a></p><p>IMPORTANT: If you talk about this fic on social (thank you!!!!), please use #theislandeffect so that people who (understandably) don't want to see such sensitive topics can mute it.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[i need to go back and proof this again but wanted to post it!]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>11.</strong>
</p><p>Two days later, and Rey is running barefoot across the back garden, her sketchbook pressed against her front, her hair loose in flowing tangles down her back.</p><p>“Careful,” Ben calls lazily from his reclined position by the pool, his dark sunglasses not diminishing the intensity of the way he follows her with his eyes. The two soda cans in her satchel bump against her hip, but she’s too excited to slow down as she runs down the hill towards him.</p><p>“It came!” she calls, skidding to a stop before she hits the cream-colored pavers around the pool a little <em> too </em> fast. Ben hasn’t expressed any objections to her enthusiasm, but she doubts very much that he’d take kindly to her ending up with a skinned knee. </p><p>He only smiles at her, putting his phone away. “Oh, good. Come and show me.”</p><p>She trots over to him, beaming with her bagful of treasures as she flops down onto the chaise next to his. The sun-baked fabric is warm against her thighs, and she sets about disemboweling the contents of her back like a hunger-gatherer with a particularly excellent find. </p><p>“They were on the little table by the front door. Look, sketchbooks, and watercolor pencils, and the painting palettes, and the <em> brushes, </em>” she enthuses, setting them out one by one before finally remembering that she only went back into the house to get sparkling waters in the first place.</p><p>She hands one to Ben, who takes it without comment, a smile tugging on his lips.</p><p>“Is that everything you needed?” he says. </p><p>“Everything,” she says, running her hands across them greedily. “There’s so much to <em> sketch. </em>”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to suggest it sooner. I didn’t know you were such a gifted artist.”</p><p>The praise has its intended effect, and she warms, pleased in spite of herself. </p><p>“It was my favorite pastime at—”  She cuts off, not really sure how to refer to the island anymore. Calling it “home” feels very wrong. But she wants to call it “grandfather’s island” even less. In the end, she settles on, “—before.”</p><p>Ben watches this the same way he <em> always </em> watches her. With focused interest and steady calm.  </p><p>“Would you sketch me a portrait of yourself, sometime? I’d like to have it with me when I have to go back to work.” </p><p>“Don’t you have photos of me?”</p><p>“Plenty,” he concedes. “But I don’t like the idea of someone finding it or taking it. I’d prefer a sketch. It’s more intimate.”</p><p>That sentence brings to mind the way they’ve spent the past 48 hours. Him showing her the house, the grounds, how to work various technologies that keep the house working, and kissing her, touching her, bending her over damn near every surface they reach. It’s been a blur of soft touches, new information, and quiet delights. The in-ground pool, heated to just the right temperature and purified without harsh chemicals. The big projector room with the comfy recliners and soft blankets. The library stocked with books. The sun-room full of ferns. </p><p>All of it <em> delighted </em> her, and the feel of his rough fingers skimming up her shoulders, his mouth on her neck, his hands on her breasts, thighs, and neck have combined into a heady cocktail.</p><p>It’s all… distracting, and she has to pull her thoughts back to the present moment. </p><p>“I’ll sketch you a self-portrait, sure. But can I sketch you, first? Just to warm up?” </p><p>He takes his sunglasses off, giving her a steady, skeptical look. “Really?” </p><p>“I’d… I mean, if you’re going to be gone for long periods of time, I suppose that I, too, would—” </p><p>She cuts off, not entirely sure what she means by that. She does this a lot, where Ben is concerned. One thought starts to slip out, and in the middle of it she cuts herself off, confused by the conflicting impulse. Because the truth is that if Ben is going to be gone for work a lot, she’s going to miss him. Alone in the house without him to talk to, what will her days even be like? There's a part of her that knows that the affection she can’t help but feel for him is as much a coping mechanism as anything else.</p><p>But it’s there, all the same. He floods her body with endorphins. He listens to her very carefully. He makes her feel… visible. Alive. It’s hard not to like it, and there doesn’t seem to be a good reason why she <em> shouldn’t.  </em></p><p>Except there is. </p><p>The fence around the property is much taller than she is. Ben said he'd tell her how it worked sometime. If it would make her feel better. </p><p>She clears her throat, settling her sketchbook on her lap. “Please?” </p><p>He smiles. “Alright. Of course. Sure. Now?” </p><p>“Now.”</p><p>“Do I just… sit?”</p><p>“Yes, please. And move your arm a little. So it’s resting on the chair. Yes, like that. Tilt your head up a bit.”</p><p>It’s amusing, watching him move and adjust at her slightest command. “Great, now relax your jaw.”</p><p>“My jaw is relaxed.”</p><p>“Ben, you’re scowling.”</p><p>“That’s just my face.”</p><p>“Don’t you want me to paint you looking a little… friendlier?” He breaks her careful posing to give her a flat, resolute look. “Okay, got it. Not friendly. Right.”</p><p>And she ducks her head a little, setting to the task of jotting down the outline of his face, his body, his hands, as he looks to her now. Large. Imposing, even at rest like this. Drawing people has never been her strong suit, but Ben’s face is interesting to draw. He’s all angles and lines, and it makes a nice contrast to her usual leafy, elegant works. </p><p>Just as she’s getting to his hair, he interrupts her thought.</p><p>“Your phone arrived. I have Rose’s number in there for you. If you’d like to invite her over, just give her a text. Hux’s number is in there, as well as a few others. Your grandfather and Mitaka,” he concludes. </p><p>“Oh,” she says, her pencil stilling. </p><p>“Do you think you will call him?”</p><p>She doesn’t pretend not to know who he’s talking about. The idea of having a phone of her own is strange enough, let alone that she might call her grandfather. She's never once been allowed to contact him on her own terms, and she has no idea what that would even look like. She's... angry. Really angry. But she doesn't even have the language to express that feeling to him because he'd gone to great lengths to make it impossible for her to do that.</p><p>And how could she have? He'd kept her boxed in on an island, exposing her to dangerous men without even doing her the courtesy of teaching her to be afraid of them, and for what? Turning her gaze back to the hard set of Ben’s jaw, she presses down with more than strictly necessary pressure. </p><p>“I don’t know if I'll call him,” she finally manages. </p><p>“What would you say to him if you did?” </p><p>Shielded like this in their roles as artist and subject, it’s easier to talk about. Art is honest. Not honest the way that sex is honest, but honest like something built out of clay. Real and soft and utterly crushable. </p><p>“I’d tell him that … that he didn’t deserve me.”</p><p>It comes out harsh and raw, her voice a little too loud in the stillness of the afternoon. </p><p>“You're right," Ben says quietly. "He didn't deserve you. And I don’t either, you know.”</p><p>“No, you just feel <em> entitled </em> to me,” she mumbles, giving Ben’s chin a very sharp edge. </p><p>He’s silent at that, and she doesn’t look up, scared at what she might see on his face. A long time passes as she tries to get the curve of his mouth right, until finally she has to look up at him to reference it.</p><p>His expression is different than it was before. Not hard or flinty, but conflicted.</p><p>“I’m not entitled to you, Rey,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I’m sorry.” </p><p>He <em>looks</em> sorry, too. Looking between the sketch in front of her— this hard, unyielding man with the stony expression— and the subject in front of her now, the contrast is striking.</p><p>“Stay like that,” she whispers, trying to fix the sight of him in her mind’s eye. This new look on his face that is much more interesting to her. It has to be captured. She has to remember this moment. </p><p>“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t move an inch.</p><p>She tears out the angry, rough sketch, and finds to her satisfaction that there is a blank one behind it. </p><hr/><p>Ben dozes on the chaise, the sun slanting across his legs as his eyes close. </p><p>Rey’s in the pool, swimming naked. She has a swimsuit. She’s sure she does, somewhere, but it hardly seems to matter. Who’s going to see her? Him?</p><p>When she swims to the edge of the pool and climbs out, it’s Ben’s stillness that catches her eye. His body, always so mobile and active, looks relaxed in repose. Seeing him sleep is odd, like she’s violating his privacy in some way. </p><p>Makes for a nice reversal, honestly.</p><p>She towels off, then pulls her sundress back over herself, the thin material ghosting across sensitive skin. As the early evening air steals the moisture from her skin, she has a strong impulse to go to him. Crawl on top of him, let him pull her close into his warm body until she’s flattened against him, until her body temperature catches back up to his.</p><p>The temptation is strong enough that she takes two steps forward, her mind racing ahead to the other ways he would warm her up. Big hands on her face. She could climb on him, lower herself on top of him, pull those pants off him. He would let her. He would be <em> delighted.  </em></p><p>It’s that thought that stops her. </p><p>She doesn’t want a combative role with him. She never has. From the beginning, her intention has been to build a lasting partnership, whatever that looks like. But in her mind, that always looked like changing herself until she fit the mold, not consenting to be warped until the fabric of herself was merged into the weft of his world. </p><p>This urge to go to him, to kiss his temple until his eyes open, to slide down his body and palm him through his pants as he groans those soft, approving noises— she isn't prepared for that. </p><p>Passively accepting is one thing.</p><p>What does it mean that she actively wants him? </p><p>She takes two steps backwards. Then two more. And more. Until she is no longer backing up but turning and running. There are paths that criss cross around the enormous lawn, little alcoves and terraces that intersect and twine together in a tangled, complicated mass that seems designed to give her plenty of places to hide. </p><p>She tears through it like a mad thing, not stopping for a minute. No matter which way she turns, she can still see the walls surging up, trapping her. Her strength fails her, her legs exhausted from the ceaseless sprinting around, caged in little circles. </p><p>She's just running. Dashing to and fro, every turn bringing a new wall in front of her, and it doesn't matter that the walls are far away, they are still <em>there. </em>All of this is for her. He did this for her. How many times will this feeling climb up her throat to choke her? How long is it going to feel oppressive like this? Will it come to her in waves until she is sent sprinting for a freedom that doesn't exist, pelting across an oasis of still, steady growing things made to delight her?</p><p>And when he takes her, pushing into her with a groan that rumbles through her body, when his fingers make pleasure come limping to her with little cries of need and desire, is she always going to know that no matter what happens, she is going to like the way it feels? </p><p>The choice is to be happy or to be unhappy. </p><p>Why isn't it a simple one? </p><p>“Rey?” </p><p>He’s awake. He knows she’s gone. This is going to go just like the kitchen, he’s going to hunt her down and she’s going to lose it. </p><p>“Sweetheart?” </p><p>He sounds very far away. </p><p>How long could she hide like this? She sinks down on her knees, the soft mulch under her knees surging up around her.</p><p>“Where are you? Are you safe?” </p><p>
  <em>I’m here. I’m so desperately safe. </em>
</p><p>“Please, Rey,” he calls. Closer, now. “Just tell me where you are.” </p><p>He’ll find her either way. Even if it takes him all night. </p><p>“I thought— I thought it was going well,” he says, his voice breaking. He sounds stressed out. Distraught. “I’m not— I won't— just… please don’t hide from me. We can talk about it.” </p><p>The hope in his voice makes her heart hurt. The urge to go to him, to get to her feet and walk back to him, to wrap her arms around him, is like a physical itch. </p><p>
  <em> He’s hurting you’re hurting him you’re hurting yourself stop stop stop </em>
</p><p>She starts to cry, crouched in the dirt, still dripping wet, a mess, her bare feet covered in mud. </p><p>“Please. Just tell me what I can <em> do. </em>” </p><p>He’s closer still, his voice pleading and gentle. She puts the whistle to her lips, biting down on it. There’s a long silence. She doesn’t hear him come any closer. </p><p>“Rey,” he says, his voice ragged. He must be ten feet from her. “If you need to… look, I don’t pretend to understand what you must be feeling. But if it would help you to hide from me, then that’s okay. I left your phone on the table by the pool. Call me if… there’s something I can do. Or come find me. We haven’t talked about the fence much. Don’t try climbing it. The top… it’s electrified. You’d get hurt.” </p><p>She bites down on a sob, and Ben makes a strangled noise from wherever he’s standing, no doubt looking <em> right </em> at the bush she’s hiding in. He knows. Of course he knows. </p><p>She hears the sound of his footsteps retreating. Rey waits a long time, until she’s absolutely sure he’s back in the house, before she risks standing up.</p><p>The house, gleaming and metallic and pristine at the top of the hill, stares back at her, its windows reflecting the vivid gleam of the setting sun. Rey pads softly towards the pool, taking acre to skirt hedges and decorate fences that will keep her out of sight as much as possible from where Ben must be watching her. But every time she looks at the windows, expecting to see his tall, imposing presence outlined in the window, there’s nothing. </p><p>If he’s watching her, he’s doing it secretly.</p><p>But that doesn’t really <em> seem </em> like him.</p><p>
  <em> My job is not to let you run.  </em>
</p><p>She makes it to the pool, where Ben’s chaise is empty. There’s a white box sitting there, the outline of a sleek smart phone printed on it. She picks it up and lifts it out.</p><p>She’s never had one of these, and the touch interface is tricky to figure out at first. It’s not like a book. But eventually, she makes it to the contact section, skimming through the short list of names.</p><p>Surprisingly, she sees Poe’s number on there, and wonders if that was Ben’s idea of a joke. </p><p>Kaydel’s number, she notices with a pang in her stomach, was not included. </p><p>Rey finds the name she’s looking for and presses the green icon with the phone on it, pulling it to her ear. </p><hr/><p>It takes thirty minutes before she hears it. The distant, metallic sound of the gate opening. She’s on her feet in an instant, running up the hill, dashing to the front driveway and brushing her tears out of her eyes. </p><p>The SUV pulling up into the driveway reminds her of the one Ben had brought her here in, and that thought sends a fresh wave of pain rolling through her. She comes to a stop by the front door at the exact moment that Ben charges <em> out </em> of it.</p><p>“Hux,” Ben snarls as the car comes to a stop. Then he catches sight of Rey standing there and stops, his expression frozen. The door opens, and a petite, pregnant woman gets out.</p><p>Rose has rosy cheeks and big eyes. The dress she’s wearing is soft and stretchy, printed with a pattern of stars and moons. She’s wearing flip flops, and for a minute Rey is so arrested by the sight of her that neither of them say anything.</p><p>“Rose,” Ben says, his voice strangled by surprise. </p><p>Rose doesn’t look at him. Her eyes go straight to Rey’s. </p><p>Then they both burst into tears. </p><p>Ben curses fluently, taking a few steps towards Rey before Rose points one unpainted fingernail at him and, through sniffles, snarls, “Not one word, Ben.”</p><p>He comes to a dead halt, holding his hands up. </p><p>Rey stares at this woman across from her, so alive and vivid, so unlike the others she’s met before, and marvels at the sense of recognition. Of similarity. </p><p>“Want to come in?” Rey whispers. </p><p>Rose nods, and they turn as one to face Ben, who is standing in front of the door. He looks between them, nods, and gets out of the way. </p><p>Rose breezes past him, murmuring, “If you don’t have ice cream in the freezer, I will be requiring some.” </p><hr/><p>They sit together, cross-legged on the plush carpet of the living room, bowls of ice cream in their laps. Rose has to sit carefully, her protruding belly getting in her way, as Rey gesticulates recklessly with her ice-cream coated spoon.</p><p>“And I just— I just <em> lost </em> it, you know? I don’t know why that was the thing that did it, but it was just the thought that I wanted to that made it all so much worse. It shouldn’t have made it worse but it did?” </p><p>Rose nods around a spoonful of mint chocolate chip. “No, totally. I get it. The first time I realized I’d kissed Hux just because I felt like it I thought I was going to be sick. I wish I <em> had </em> been sick, honestly. It would have been better than burying the horror, I think.” </p><p>“Did it get easier?” Rey whispers. </p><p>Rose nods, but slowly. “Hux and I are happy, now. Though… if you do get pregnant… that’s a tough moment, too.”</p><p>“I can’t even imagine.”</p><p>Rose sighs. “It’s better and it’s worse. I screamed my head off. I don’t know how it’ll be for you, but just be prepared for that. It’s a huge amount of change, you know? When it happens to you all at once like this, your feelings can’t come out the way I think it might naturally come out, but they will come out. Anger and loss like that can’t be reasoned with, only listened to.”</p><p>Rey pulls the blanket tighter around herself, remembering the intensity of her need to <em> run </em>. Flee. Go. The crushing weight of how it had felt to face the fact that there was nowhere she could go. </p><p>“Don’t panic,” Rose whispers. “Or, <em> panic </em>, whatever helps. Just try to keep your head on straight and don’t overthink it. Ben’s one of the good ones.” </p><p>“He said he wouldn’t sell the—” she cuts off, unable even to complete the thought as she stares at Rose’s belly.</p><p>Rose shakes her head. “God, can you imagine?” </p><p>“No. Is… Hux?” </p><p>“No, he gave me his word,” she says, nodding slowly. “I believe him. He’s really happy. About the baby. It’s been good for us.” </p><p>“What… what about Kaydel?”</p><p>Rose’s eyes close. “I’m— I can’t really think too hard about Kaydel.” </p><p>Rey nods, like she has any idea what that must be like. </p><p>“When I was a kid out west, they used to talk about building a utopia where there would be gender equity. But you know, I noticed that their idea of utopia looked a lot like prison for me and my sisters. When the raid happened, I thought for sure I’d be killed instantly. The cult people… they’re <em> insane. </em>I’m furious at Poe, but … I hope he kills them. I hope he gets them out of there.”</p><p>There’s a silence.</p><p>“What happened to your sisters?” </p><p>Rose sighs. “Paige made it. She lives a few hours away. I see her sometimes. We don’t really talk about it. What about your family?”</p><p>“I never had siblings. I have a grandfather, I guess. But he didn’t raise me with ideals, really.” </p><p>Rose snorts. “Yeah. Well, to be honest, I think that’s better. The idea that there’s some utopian society we could build where there are equal numbers of men and women is absurd.” </p><p>“Isn’t that the point of us? Have lots of kids? Save the world? Donate our eggs and all that?” </p><p>“Right. But Rey, there’s no way the few women who are left can reproduce enough that things could go back to what things were. Even if they take our eggs and <em> all </em> of them produce viable women, it still wouldn’t be enough. The world has moved <em> on. </em>The world is just different now. I don’t really think it ever can go back.”</p><p>“So… what’s the point of us?”</p><p>Rose sighs. “I think it’s a cultural tradition that now exists only in the hands of the very wealthy. And that’s all it will ever be. I think we exist to make people think that one day, maybe things <em> could </em> go back to what it was originally. But I think that’s fiction. A nice story that we embody. But that’s all that it is. I doubt very much that they’d let something as volatile as organic reproduction into the common of the masses. We have to be a token object controlled by the governing body—”</p><p>Rey’s eyes widen. This is easily the most radical thing Rey’s ever heard. Rose sees her shocked expression and laughs.</p><p>“Sorry. I didn’t exactly grow up like you did. You got fed the party line, and I barely got <em> fed. </em>I’m sorry if this stuff is upsetting—”</p><p>“No,” Rey cuts in. “No. It’s … I mean it’s terrible, but it was <em> already terrible. </em>”</p><p>Rose nods, taking an enormous bite of ice cream. Around it, she says, “<em> Right </em>? The trick is to see the lie of the whole thing without going absolutely insane as a result. Kaydel… she wanted to believe in Utopia. I don’t blame her. I just… I wish I had told her what I’m pretty sure is true. Which is that at least for us, that world is gone, and it’s better to accept that before you go insane.” </p><p>It’s a bleak statement. Rey takes another bite and feels the cold sweetness of it melt on her tongue. She <em> likes </em> ice cream. Rose has good ideas and speaks very directly. It feels like fresh air.</p><p>“Thank you,” Rey whispers.</p><p>Rose gives her a sad smile. “Messed up, I know..” She leans closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Just.. please your<em> self. </em> That’s what <em> they </em> all do. Don’t worry about liking it. Just… stay in reality. As much as that’s possible.” </p><p>Her expression is vivid. Rey reaches out and takes Rose’s hand. </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>There’s a sound of a clearing throat, and Rey and Rose turn to look at Ben standing there in his suit jacket, his hands in his pockets.</p><p>“I’m ordering pizza,” he announces. “Please let me know what toppings you prefer. Pepperoni, mushroom, veggie, whatever it is.”</p><p>He says it with such seriousness and dignity that Rey has to bring a hand to her mouth to stifle the absurd, desperate giggle that threatens to overtake her. </p><p>“Ben, you know something?” Rose says. “You’re one of the good ones.”</p><p>He stares back at her. Then his gaze slips to Rey’s, slowly, like he can’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze. </p><p>“Ben?”</p><p>He takes a step forward as if just the sound of her voice had yanked him towards her.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“What is a pepperoni?”</p><p>His answering smile is wavering. “I’ll bring you one. You can see for yourself.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love rose :) </p><p> </p><p>if you'd like to talk about this fic on social media, please use the hashtag #theislandeffect so that people can mute effectively! </p><p>thank you for reading my fanfic! </p><p>follow me <a href="https://twitter.com/theislandeffect">on twitter if you want to! </a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>everything in the world is rough right now. here, have some of this soft. also, we're at the final chapter count, which went up by one to account for a lil epilogue :)</p><p><b>heads up that this chapter discusses pregnancy and menstruation</b> If you'd like a more detailed description of what that entails, please check the end note!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>12.</b>
</p><p>For about a week after the incident in the garden, he doesn’t make any move to touch her. They eat dinner together and sit in the garden and he watches her sketch while he tends to whatever it is he… does all day. In the evening they watch movies. Old ones. She discovers that she likes Westerns, with their gun-slinging protagonists and daring horse chases through strikingly beautiful landscapes that she recognizes from her books. </p><p>Ben has a whole volume of forbidden media, and blown on up the massive screen, she loses herself in images of a world that no longer exists. Ben expressed concern that the movies might make her sad, but the seem so fantastic to her that it’s like they’re not even real. </p><p>Ben always sits next to her, peppering in details and answering her questions, and they have lots of food brought in and she tries all of it. But he doesn’t touch her outside of the occasional little gesture or brush of the arm, and she could almost imagine this was what <em> normal </em>is if she hadn’t seen him act so differently before. Ferocious and on edge, hell bent to prove a point to her. She’s not sure if he’s behaving like this as some kind of test, or if he’s just confident that he made his point clearly enough that he doesn’t need to repeat it. </p><p>Thinking of the way he’d taken her, holding the whistle in her mouth, making her cry with pleasure, she can’t help but think it’s the latter.</p><p>Except that doesn’t feel quite right either, because he’s not smug enough about it. He just seems kind of tentative. Like he’s waiting for something. And as much as she feels entitled to ascribe a bad intent to his apparently boundless restraint, it’s hard to when he seems so … nice. </p><p>So she finds other ways to amuse herself. She and Rose hang out almost every day, and when they can’t be together physically they video call, chattering aimlessly about whatever while they do stuff around the house. Ben’s kitchen has a video system installed, and Rose and Hux have been giving her cooking lessons. </p><p>Tonight, Rose is explaining the finer points of flipping an omelette.</p><p>“Rose this is an absolutely insane way to cook something,” Rey objects. “Couldn’t I just boil it?”</p><p>“Boiled eggs are for cowards<em>,</em>” Rose insists. “Omelettes are awesome. You get to throw an egg in the air and catch it. It’s like cooking but sportier.” </p><p>“Okay, well maybe that’s how they did it out West—” </p><p>“Look, the only good thing that came out of being raised by a cult is that I make fantastic breakfast food.”</p><p>Rey snorts. “Well, the only good thing about being raised in complete isolation on an island with only a small army of servants for companionship is that I <em> didn’t </em> have to cook.”</p><p>Then they’re both giggling, the egg forgotten, and when the camera pans to Hux’s horrified expression they only giggle harder. One of the good things about Rose is that she’s not scared of the truth, and with a friend like that at her side, Rey finds it easier to identify the things about her life that are kind of funny. Even the awful ones. </p><p>“Okay, focus. Keep your elbows bent at a 90 degree angle,” Rose says, getting serious again. Rose’s voice is clear over the sound of the sizzling egg, the video screen swiveling on its stand slightly as it tracks Rey’s motion, bouncing back and forth with the frying pan in her hand. </p><p>“You made that rule up,” Rey whines. </p><p>“You have to be bold!” Rose barks, patting her baby bump. “Assert your dominance over the egg!” </p><p>Taking a deep breath, Rey jerks the pan into the air, sending the egg jumping up. It turns over and lands back on the pan with a very satisfying little hiss. </p><p>She cheers, and on the screen Rose applauds enthusiastically, but it’s the sound of a polite golf clap from across the room that makes her look up. Ben is standing there, watching her. </p><p>“Well done,” he says approvingly. </p><p>On the screen, Rose chirps, “Is that Ben?”</p><p>“Oh, Benjamin, <em> do </em> come say hello,” Hux drawls. “Your wife has been dazzling us with her displays of domestic prowess. Terrible shame you can’t afford to provide her with a chef-cooked meal like a civilized person—”</p><p>“He had a big meeting,” Rey says, surprising herself at the heat in her voice. Hux was only joking, but she feels a bit defensive of Ben. “We ordered in every night this week.”</p><p>Ben is staring at her. “That’s… for me?” </p><p>Rey holds his gaze, faintly embarrassed. “It’s not that good. You don’t have to.”</p><p>“No,” he says, his voice harsh and just a little too loud. “No, I want it. Please. Thank you.”</p><p>On the screen, she has just enough time to hear Hux murmur in an awed tone, “Well, I’ll be damned,” before Rey hangs up the call. </p><hr/><p>The next day is cloudy and rainy, and she spends the morning reading before passing out on the couch, the watery light spilling through the big windows. She dozes fitfully, her dreams as cloudy as the weather. </p><p>“Rey, have you seen my tablet?” Ben calls from his office.</p><p>Rey rouses slightly, lifting her head. “Hm?” </p><p>He strides into the room, one hand fixing a cufflink. His hair is still wet around his ears, and he has that distracted look on his face that he always wears before a big meeting.</p><p>“The tablet. I can’t remember where I put it. Oh, were you sleeping? Forgive me.”</p><p>“I think you left it in the movie room?” Rey suggests drowsily. </p><p>“Ah,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s right. I seem to recall that my wife took it from me.”</p><p>“Because you wouldn’t stop fact checking everything in the movie,” Rey protests. “It was like watching with a read-aloud dictionary at my side.”</p><p>He crosses to the couch, his expression softening as he finishes with his cufflinks. </p><p>“Did you sleep alright?” </p><p>Rey blinks up at him, debating whether or not to lie. But the dark circles under her eyes and the mid-day nap apparently answer the question for him, because he sits down at the edge of the couch and puts a hand on her forehead. </p><p>She blinks at him, confused as he pulls his hand away and says, “You don’t have a fever.”</p><p>“How do you know that?”</p><p>“I felt your forehead.”</p><p>“You can tell if someone has a fever by touching their forehead?” </p><p>He stares at her. “It’s not exactly scientific, but yeah. It’s what my mother always did.”</p><p>There’s a brief, awful silence. </p><p>“Oh,” Rey says quietly, thinking of Mitaka handing her a metal thermometer that she held under her tongue, uncomfortable and feverish in her bed. Thinking of <em> every </em> night she spent alone. </p><p>“Are you feeling, uh, sick?” Ben asks. And there’s a leading tone in his voice that takes her a minute to understand. Of course it’s way too soon for <em> that, </em> but she supposes it’s a fair question. </p><p>“No,” she says quickly. “It’s not <em> that</em>. I think it’s probably just PMS or something. Sleeplessness is a pretty common symptom for me.”</p><p>She doesn’t mention the cramps. Or any of the other symptoms that she associates with her period. He doesn’t get to know <em> everything </em> about her. </p><p>Ben nods. “Okay. Can I bring you something?” </p><p>She shakes her head. “No, I’m… stocked.”</p><p>And she is, too. There’s a whole cabinet in her bathroom just for tampons. Fancy ones, too. She didn’t even know they made fancy tampons. Hers were always cardboard and treated as something embarrassing. But her bathroom cabinet here has <em> glass doors, </em>which for some reason struck her as incredibly shocking when she first realized that you could see the neatly organized tampons clear through.</p><p>Ben only says, “Let me know if you need anything to be comfortable. Try and get some sleep.”</p><p>Then he gets up before she can ask him <em> why </em> exactly he hasn’t come to her room even once the past week. Why he hasn’t so much as kissed her. Why he doesn’t look angry that she’s probably not pregnant. </p><p>And she absolutely doesn’t ask herself what it might mean that her own response to all of that is a sense of detached, idle disappointment. </p><hr/><p>Her period comes two days later. It’s not surprising, exactly. But it still makes her feel <em> weird. </em>That night she tries to fall asleep for a long time, but sleep eludes her. She dreams uneasily, tossing around, shifting blankets and pillows, searching for a sense of restfulness that eludes her. Finally, she realizes that it is just not going to happen. </p><p>She pads out the door to her room, past the kitchen, the hanging lights, the cream colored elegance of her new home until she’s standing at the door to the back deck. She pushes open the massive glass door, and she hears the distant chirp of their alarm system registering that a door has opened. Ben will have heard it too, no doubt, if he's awake. </p><p>But she doesn't care if he'll be upset she went outside unaccompanied. It’s the kind of night that absolutely requires moonlight. </p><p>Padding across the wide balcony, she stares up at the moon, the hills, the grass below her, the fence beyond. </p><p>There's patio furniture, a soft cream white on an architectural chair that she sinks down into, sitting cross legged in her thin nightgown. It's one of those summer evenings that's balmy and mild, with a gentle breeze and clear skies. But even with all that, she feels cold.</p><p>Two feelings war for dominance, surging and receding inside her like rushing waves. On the one hand, she’s relieved. Things between her and Ben still feel so uncertain that the last thing she wants to deal with is a pregnancy. But there’s a sense of disappointment, too. Having a child was something she always took as a given in her future, so she never really bothered considering what she actually <em> thought </em> about it. </p><p>But now that she’s here, she’s startled to realize that a big part of the disappointment she’s feeling has nothing to do with expectations placed on her by the rest of the world. Part of this disappointment belongs only to her. </p><p>The sound of footsteps makes her open her eyes and turn to look at the door into the house, where Ben is standing with his eyes hooded, half-dressed in his pajamas. </p><p>"Sorry," he says immediately. "I just wanted to check that it was you who opened the door."</p><p>"Who else could it have been?" Rey says, a little croakily. Looking at him, she feels embarrassed to be caught like this. </p><p>He looks down at the floor. "I'll give you your space."</p><p>"You're an <em> idiot,</em> Ben Solo."</p><p>Even though she says it quietly and with no particular malice, it feels like the most audacious thing she's ever said. A perversion of something. </p><p>Everything about him is supposed to impress her. His wealth and intelligence and influence. These factors have been built up in her mind and in the books and movies as a sort of impenetrable wall of rightness that must be obeyed. </p><p>He’s supposed to be the default. What he has that she lacks is only a reflection of her own deficiencies. He’s supposed to be the answer to every problem inside her. Every weakness, ever flaw, he is meant to correct and overcome.</p><p>She inhales shakily. “You’re just a man.” </p><p>Are they allowed to acknowledge this? That he’s human too, behind all that? If she calls him out as an imperfect vessel, does this charade fall apart? </p><p>His jaw clenches. “You’re upset. Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“No,” she says hotly. “But I do think we should talk.” </p><p>“What would you like to discuss?” </p><p>“You haven’t touched me,” she says, and it comes out all wrong. Like an accusation. </p><p>“No, I haven’t.”</p><p>“Is it because you’re upset with me?”</p><p>He frowns. “Why would you think that?” </p><p>“Because when you’re upset with me you usually have sex with me,” she mumbles. </p><p>There’s a bruised silence. He blows out a long breath. </p><p>“That’s… why I haven’t. Touched you. Because you’re right.” His voice is unsteady, but out here under the vastness of the sky, he doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming. “I keep thinking about what happened in the garden. I play it over and over in my head. What set you off? We were having a good day and then I woke up and you were gone. You hid from me. <em> Why </em>?” </p><p>She closes her eyes. </p><p>“Because when I saw you like that, asleep and gentle… You looked like somebody I could love. It freaked me out. What am I supposed to do with that feeling?” </p><p>His breath catches, and she registers with dim alarm that he leans heavily against the frame of the door, like his massive strength has failed him. </p><p>“I never asked you to love me,” he whispers. </p><p>“I know. It’s the one thing you <em> didn’t </em> demand of me. The idea of willingly handing it over…”</p><p>He nods, still looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “But… you think you could<em> ?” </em></p><p>His voice is quite calm, but she knows him enough now to be able to tell that he isn’t. </p><p>Rey holds his gaze. “I’m starting to think that I’m capable of quite a lot.”</p><p>She doesn’t trust her own voice to say anything else, so she just nods and looks down at her hands. Then, gesturing at the chair next to hers, she says, “You can come and sit, if you want.” </p><p>He crosses over to her, but instead of taking the chair he sits at her feet, leaning his back against the chair between her legs, his dark hair brushing against her knees. They’re quiet for a long moment, just them and the moonlight and the stars. </p><p>He’s so big that even like this, seated at her feet, he still feels massive. But they’re facing in the same direction, and the feeling of him touching her is good after so long without. So she reaches her hand out, twining it through his hair to soothe both of them. She’s tentative at first, but he makes a low rumbling noise of approval and she grows bolder.</p><p>Her fingers move down to the base of his skull, rubbing idly as she  slips them forward. To the fine jump of his pulse. </p><p>“I’d like it,” he says, very quietly. “If you loved me.” </p><p>“And if I never love you? If I never get pregnant?” </p><p>He tenses up like he’s going to turn around and look at her, but she grips him by the hair none too gently, holding him still. He hisses, but obeys her, rigid and unmoving in her hands. </p><p>“Then I’d be more responsible for that situation than you. I would rather have you— have <em> this </em>—” he says, gesturing vaguely at her hands in his hair, “Than a world where you loved me and it tortured you inside. The person I like is you. I’ll take you however I can have you.” </p><p>Mollified, she releases her grip on his hair. A little. </p><p>“You barely know me.”</p><p>“That doesn’t appear to matter. It’s… it’s enough. When you were in the bushes, I could hear you crying. I don’t want to do that to you again. I did that to you, and it wasn’t even… I would have expected it if it were about sex or we had a fight. But I did that to you when I was happier than I’d ever felt in my life, without even trying. How was I supposed to come to you and touch you after that?” </p><p>It’s stilted and he sounds so hesitant. Like he’s afraid of <em> her. </em></p><p>“Wow,” Rey says, realizing the truth of what he’s saying. Because that is the problem, isn’t it? They taught her how to endure. They never taught her how to be happy. They never even taught her how to <em> care </em> about being happy. </p><p>She leans her head down so that she’s resting her cheek on the top of his head, dimly registering that it’s exactly the kind of thing he loves doing to her. These little gestures. A hand on the small of the back, a kiss on the top of her head. </p><p>Rey sighs, inhaling the smell of him. </p><p>“What a pair we make, husband,” she mumbles. </p><p>He snorts a little laugh and puts his hand on her ankle, which is draped over his shoulder now. His thumb strokes her there, gentle and calm. </p><p>“I would do anything for you,” he says, very simply. “Anything.” </p><p>She gently pulls his hair back from his temples, idly beginning a braid. It’s strange, doing this to someone else, and what she meant as a french braid comes out in reverse. But it suits him, a little. </p><p>“That’s what I’m afraid of.” </p><p>There’s a long silence. He turns his head and presses a kiss into the bend of her knee. The sensation is like someone lighting a candle inside her. Flickery, warm. </p><p>“Ben?” </p><p>“Hmm?” he says, gently nuzzling his face against her. </p><p>“I’m not pregnant.” </p><p>“I figured.” </p><p>“You’re not mad?” </p><p>“No. If you want to know the truth, I’m a little relieved.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I want to get better at, you know, <em> us </em> before we bring a kid into the world.”</p><p>Relief floods her system so fast that it almost makes her fold over onto him. She wants to crawl into his lap. </p><p>“Yeah. Me too. Hey, remember just now when you said you’d do anything for me?” Rey says. </p><p>His voice has a warning note, rumbly and deep. “Rey.”   </p><p>“No, no, you said <em> anything,</em>” she murmurs, wheedling him a little bit on purpose. </p><p>“I meant it more in the spirit of a romantic declaration—”</p><p>“Take me to the ocean?”</p><p>He pauses, stilling beneath her. “Now?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He hesitates, and she can almost hear him running the numbers. “I have a private beach not far from here. We could go there. It’s late, I doubt anyone would see you. And you’d be… careful?”</p><p>She nods. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t want me to get kidnapped.” </p><p>They must <em> both </em>be thinking of Kaydel, because his gentle stroking on her leg turns into something that verges on an outright grip. </p><p>“Yeah. Okay. This is just more of a risk than I’m… thrilled about.”</p><p>“I know. But I need this,” she whispers, thinking of the agitated, stressed feeling from before. </p><p>“Then we’ll go.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“It’s my <em> job </em> to provide you with what you need,” he says, and she can hear the businesslike tone of it. It’s such a relief that she leans down and impulsively kisses him on his cheek. He goes very still as she peppers his jaw with kisses, joy sparking in her chest.</p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>She can just barely see the curve of a smile on his lips. “Will you finish the braid first?” </p><p>“Yeah,” she murmurs, picking up another loose strand. “It looks nice. Though, I think you need a haircut.” </p><p>“You think?” </p><p>“I could cut it for you,” she murmurs, neatly tucking and twisting, the motion soothing. She used to cut her own hair all the time. </p><p>“I’d like that,” he says. “I’d like that very much.”</p><hr/><p>Ben makes her wear a hoodie and tuck her hair into it, but once that’s done he takes her by the hand and leads her to his car. It’s not the SUV this time, but a sleek, fast looking vehicle that is so high-tech she’s pretty sure it could drive itself. He holds the door for her, only giving her a stern admonition not to make eye contact with anyone. </p><p>On the drive to the water, he points out things they pass. </p><p>“My old boss used to live in that house before he moved back to New Bohemia. That guy used to be one of the Cattle Barons in the Lone Star Republic before the Free Ranchers took the capitol building. I think that house has another organic— another woman, in it. Though, I’m not sure,” he says, frowning as they pass another heavily armored compound.</p><p>“Does everyone with a wife live in this neighborhood?” Rey says, watching as the massive, stone walled building zooms by. She makes a mental note to ask Ben to take her out driving sometime in the daylight. </p><p>“No, most of these houses are just regular families. But if you live in the North Eastern District and you happen to be married, you live in this area.”</p><p>“Is that a law?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Who decided that?” </p><p>Ben looks thoughtful but keeps his eyes on the road. </p><p>“There were re-zoning efforts in the fifties. They put it to a vote, and they thought this area was the best choice. It’s removed enough from major urban areas to deter mobs, but not far enough away from a military base to allow for any kind of isolationist compounding. Not too far from New Capitol for any kind of policy discussion, either.” He falls silent for a minute, his expression thoughtful. “Plus, it’s pretty here, and they wanted someplace pretty, I think.”</p><p>“How many women live in the area?” Rey says. </p><p>“I”m not sure. Maybe ten?” </p><p>Ten. Ten women within 15 miles or so of her. Maybe they could form a club. Maybe she could get their phone numbers. Ben could put her in contact with them. </p><p>“Then… what about all these other houses?” </p><p>“It’s a status thing to live in this area,” Ben says dismissively. “And there’s a finite number of lots. So people buy them with a sense of optimism, I think.”</p><p>“But you have… two?” Rey says, remembering the way he’d said he had a private beach.</p><p>There’s a pause. “Sort of. One is my father’s old house. Where I grew up.”</p><p>“Does he still live there?”</p><p>“No, he moved away after my mother died.”</p><p>There’s a note of pain in his voice that sends her hands fluttering in her lap. </p><p>“What was here before all this?” Rey says, trying to distract him. The road curves away from the residential street, the trees lining the road thinning out to expose flashes of surging black water. Her heart jumps in her chest just at the sight of it. </p><p>Ben keeps his eyes on the road, but he seems calmer when he says, “It used to be part of a national park, I think.” </p><p>Rey stares at him, thinking with shock of her book of parks. “You’re joking. Which one?”</p><p>“Acadia,” he says. “You know it?”</p><p>She turns to the window, looking at the nature beyond with a new interest. She was living in a national park <em> this whole time.  </em></p><p>“Yeah. I know it.” </p><p>But at that they pull up to an old house right on the water, perched against the rocky shore in a way that seems almost precarious. Ben pushes a button and the gate opens with a rusty, loud squeak. </p><p>The house Ben grew up in has a fence, too, but not like at their house. It’s wrought iron, tall but almost decorative, with pointy spikes at the top that remind her of garden trowels. The building is clearly empty, no lights on in the stately tudor front, but pine trees that sweep down over the lawn and the gravel driveway. </p><p>Ben opens her door for her, scowling up at the stately place. </p><p>She takes his hand and doesn’t mind when he doesn’t let it go, even when she’s out on the gravel. She tries to walk across the stones, but Ben takes one look at her bare feet, scowls even harder, and scoops her up. </p><p>“Gee,” Rey says, “If only my husband could afford to buy me some shoes.”</p><p>He gives her a flashing smile, carrying her down around the side of the house, under the low-hanging pines and the overgrown gardens. “Maybe this is the reason I don’t. Maybe I like carrying you.”</p><p>“Your turn-ons continue to confuse me,” she mutters, but then they walk around a corner and the beach comes into view. The fence behind the house blocks the view, but Ben pulls out a key and undoes it, and they pad through. </p><p>When they get to the water, Ben takes a hard look around before putting her down, giving her a stern admonition to run past the fence if he says to. </p><p>Rolling her eyes, she runs lightly down to the water’s edge, standing with her toes in the freezing cold water, inhaling the scent of the cold, salty air. The ocean here is full of energy and power, stretching out broadly in front of her like a tablecloth spread on rocky ground. </p><p>Behind her, Ben waits on the beach as she wades in up to her knees. She doesn’t have to turn around to know that he’s there. These days, it seems there are things she feels comfortable taking for granted. </p><p>They stand there like that for a while, Ben on the beach, Rey in the water, staring out over the huge expanse. </p><p>Eventually, she turns back to look at him, holding her hand out. Without another word, he walks into the water after her, not stopping until he’s got his arms wrapped around her, holding her steady.</p><p>She watches the waves lap in and tries to guess if the tide is coming in or going out. In the end, though, it doesn’t really matter. She leans her head against his arm, the waves lapping in, breaking against their bodies. Ben wraps her up tighter, and she closes her eyes, resting like that in the cove of his arms.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Description:<br/>Rey experiences PMS symptoms and eventually gets her period. She grapples with complicated feelings of relief and disappointment about that. Ben is Not A Jerk and does not get mad at her for not being pregnant. They have a good talk.</p><hr/><p>hope you're all doing okay out there! Check out this <a href="https://twitter.com/bleumis/status/1266071158916550663">beautiful piece of art that Bleumis made!! </a> It's so stunning, thank you so much! </p><p> </p><p>if you'd like to talk about this fic on social media, please use the hashtag #theislandeffect so that people can mute effectively! </p><p>I have <a href="https://twitter.com/theislandeffect">a twitter account</a> where I post fic update tweets, if you prefer keeping track of stuff on twt.</p>
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